


Avalanche

by setissma



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 23:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 54,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12518552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setissma/pseuds/setissma
Summary: It didn’t mean she liked him, or forgave him, or particularly wanted to live in the same castle. But Slughorn’s second retirement had been more of a necessity than a suggestion. Hermione wanted someone exceptional in the position more than she wanted someone she liked.





	1. Chapter 1

She’d known he was coming, of course.

Even if McGonagall hadn’t been a very different sort of headmaster than Dumbledore had been, the sort that was significantly more inclined to soliciting feedback on hiring decisions, Hermione would still have known he was the only possible choice for the position. There were only a handful of wizards at the same level when it came to potions. Two of them lived on the continent, one worked in high level research at King’s College, and the only other real option had two small children. No matter how much she loved Hogwarts, Hermione had to admit it probably wasn’t the best place to raise a family, especially if your husband worked for the Ministry in London and you wanted to see him more than at holidays and over the summer.

And far beyond practical considerations, she knew his work. She’d been reading his articles for years, and the books – all three of them had shelf space in her office, which was more than she could say for any other author. He had a way of setting things out that reminded her of the very best kind of spell casting: straight-forward but quietly complex. He asked questions that had actually made her think. She’d even written him about a chapter in the second one; his owl back had mostly been a list of references, but there had been a diagram that had changed the way Hermione thought about an entire class of potions.

So when McGonagall had asked for suggestions, Hermione really hadn’t hesitated before saying, “Malfoy.”

It didn’t mean she liked him, or forgave him, or particularly wanted to live in the same castle. But Slughorn’s second retirement had been more of a necessity than a suggestion. Hermione wanted someone exceptional in the position more than she wanted someone she liked.

Still, she’d only seen him a handful of times since the war, mostly the occasional run in somewhere in Diagon Alley when she’d been in training and he’d still been at the Ministry. But then he’d gone to South America, presumably to do research for the book on newly described medicinal plants, and she’d come to Scotland. It had been years. She’d changed. Hermione supposed it was possible, probably even likely, that Malfoy had changed as well. But she never counted on that sort of thing.

The last week of August, Hermione had expected to have the castle mostly to herself. Neville and Hannah were on their honeymoon, McGonagall had gone to visit her sister, and nearly everyone else was somewhere else, enjoying one last brief bit of freedom before the children arrived and the castle descended into complete and utter chaos.

She was lying in the window seat reading, feet propped out the enormous circular window. Crookshanks was out hunting mice in the garden, which still smelled faintly of her carefully cultivated night blooming jasmine and the summer heat.

She saw movement out the corner of her eye, when the lamia who guarded her portrait stepped into another frame.

“Someone’s at the door,” she said; it was night, so her skin was faintly layered with scales and snake-skin rosettes, her eyes huge and glowing in the near-darkness away from the faerie lights and lanterns Hermione had set up around the window.

“Who is it?” Hermione said.

“I don’t know,” the lamia said. “I don’t recognize him.”

“That’s helpful,” Hermione said. She got up to get the door, lights trailing behind her.

When she opened the door, she very nearly didn’t recognize him either. Malfoy had gotten tall since the last time she’d seem him, age evening out the sharper features she remembered from when they were in school.

“Hello, Granger,” he said.

“What are you doing here?” she said.

“Teaching potions?” Malfoy said, dryly. “Don’t tell me they haven’t mentioned it, or this is about to be dreadfully awkward.”

“I meant my rooms,” Hermione said. She’d nearly laughed, which she found faintly horrifying; just because he’d gone and grown six inches and, apparently, developed a sense of humor didn’t make him an entirely different person.

“Do you mind if I come in?” Malfoy said. He was holding something.

“All right,” Hermione said, finally stepping back. Crookshanks had stuck his head in through the window. He looked nearly as dubious as she felt.

Malfoy stayed close to the doorway, but he held out the thing he’d been carrying, which Hermione realized was a book.

“It’s not going to be published until next spring,” he said. “But I thought you might want an advance copy.”

“Malfoy,” Hermione said, slowly. “I haven’t seen you in ten or eleven years, and you just came to my rooms at half past eleven to give me _your_ book. Are you joking?”

“Actually, I came to say hello,” Malfoy said.

“Well, in that case,” Hermione said.

“Oh, all right,” Malfoy said. He ran a hand through his hair, a very unfamiliar gesture. “All the other professors owled. You didn’t, so I thought I’d better come make sure you didn’t hex me unconscious at breakfast.”

“I was busy,” Hermione said. It was vaguely true. And besides the point. “And you’re about to be a colleague, I was planning on being an adult about our… history.”

“The history where I tried to get you and Weasley and Potter killed repeatedly, _did_ get Snape killed, and parroted rather a lot of pureblood rhetoric in your general direction?” Malfoy said. “Shame, I was expecting another round with your right hook.”

“So, what, you’re here to apologize?” Hermione said.

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but yes,” Malfoy said.

“Oh,” Hermione said. There really wasn’t anything else to say. 

There was a long and exceedingly awkward pause.

“I realize it probably seems out of character,” Malfoy said.

“A little,” Hermione said. “Okay, astonishingly. You can’t stand me.”

“Couldn’t,” Malfoy corrected. “Well, all right, I suppose it’s entirely possible that we still might hate one another, but I’d rather it be over a personality conflict than –“ He looked down at her, and she realized that even if his tone was light, there was something in his eyes that suggested that this wasn’t a particularly easy conversation.

“I turned out to be on the wrong side of a war,” he said, finally.

“We were seventeen,” Hermione said. “Honestly –“ It hadn’t occurred to her, really, but she suddenly realized she’d built Malfoy up in her head. Everything she felt about him was left over from when she’d been seventeen, bold and perfectly sure of her footing and so, so naïve. Standing in the dim lamp light, he looked nothing like she’d remembered. She was fairly certain it wasn’t because he’d changed that much. It was mostly that she’d forgotten.

“We were children,” she finished. “You were only doing what you were told.” She ran her fingers over the binding on the book. “So was I, really. It was a long time ago.”

“I’m not in the habit of apologizing every five minutes for something that happened over a decade ago,” Draco said. It sounded a little like a warning. “But you did deserve better than how awful I was to you, so I thought I ought to tell you I was sorry.”

“Oh, probably,” Hermione said, too lightly. “I might have laughed myself sick when I found out you were publishing a book.”

“Imagine my surprise to find out you’d read one of them,” Malfoy said, who’d gone back to looking vaguely amused with the entire situation.

“All of them, even,” Hermione said.

“Well, now there’s that one, if you’d like,” Malfoy said. “Although it’s not entirely altruistic.” He leaned against one of her bookshelves. “I was hoping to keep doing research here, but I need a mediwizard for consulting. Or a mediwitch, as the case may be. I realize it’s presuming a lot, but there aren’t a lot of options in the middle of Scotland.” He smiled, although it looked slightly rueful. “I thought your ongoing obsession with academic topics and a desire to be a second author might win out over, well, your dislike for me.”

There was another long pause.

“I’ll help,” she said, finally, surprised to realize she actually wanted to. “But I’m not sure you’ll have time.”

“I’ve been in research for years,” Malfoy said. “I actually do know how to balance a full schedule.”

“It’s not that,” Hermione said. “You’re going to be playing catch up. I think Potions edged out History of Magic for the least popular class.”

“McGonagall said Slughorn was ready to retire,” Malfoy said, slowly. “I’d assumed that explained why he wasn’t interested in staying long enough to help me get started.”

Hermione sighed; she didn’t particularly want to catch Malfoy up on the current state of affairs, but McGonagall obviously hadn’t said anything.

“He actually wanted to leave a few years ago, but she couldn’t find a replacement. So he’s been doing an utterly rubbish job, probably because he was tired but at least partially to make a point.”

“Funny how no one mentions these things when they ask you to come back from Africa and take a job,” Malfoy mused.

“I had to start my own stores for all the medical potions, his ingredients have either been non-existent or so bad they weren’t even worth using,” she admitted.

“Hold on, you’re brewing your own potions for the infirmary?” Malfoy said. He actually looked startled. “How on earth do you have the room?”

“I really don’t,” Hermione said. “I’ve been having to buy most of it, but I don’t trust market contraceptives, and I don’t like the idea of giving pain relief potions I didn’t brew myself.”

Hermione was always faintly surprised at the depth of feeling she’d developed regarding her job. It hadn’t been a shock when she’d realized she wanted to study medicine, to focus on life instead of death, but she’d always meant to go into research or to work at a hospital or – well, nearly anything other than chasing around insufferable teenagers who had a propensity for getting themselves into utterly ridiculous predicaments.

McGonagall had offered her the job at Hogwarts. At the time, practicing medicine on school children hadn’t seemed glamorous, but being several hours by train away from her failing relationship and the endless media articles about it had been more appealing than getting ahead somewhere.

Over the years, Hermione had realized that there was a certain sort of ambition in being excellent. And she was, well, excellent. Even the Slytherins liked her. She had an office with a perpetually open door, a carefully cultivated garden, and, after seven years, a castle full of students who had never had anyone else running the infirmary or checking in when they didn’t show up for class.

“Just give me a list of what you need,” Malfoy said. He sounded – unexpectedly angry.

It occurred to her that Malfoy was probably more than capable of all the things Slughorn hadn’t been willing to do, even when he’d still been interested in his bloody job. She thought, suddenly, that no one with a promising research career and field stations on two continents would come here if they weren’t interested in teaching. And that assumed a certain interest in the well-being of students.

“It’s different these days,” she said, finally. “I didn’t think it was entirely right that we had a hospital wing that worked like, well, a hospital.” She glanced up at him. “It’s a lot easier to get them to come to you when something’s really wrong if they’re used to coming to you for little things.”

“I don’t think either of us has ever settled for doing much halfway,” Malfoy said. “I wasn’t expecting it to be the same with you running that particular show.” He paused. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that anyway, these children are probably different than we were.”

“Not really,” Hermione said, laughing. “They’re still teenagers.”

“I can’t possibly tell you how overjoyed I am to have inherited this Head of House position,” Malfoy said. “Maybe I can just send them all to you.”

“Only if you’re prepared for me to send them right back,” she said, finally. It was strange to be joking around with Malfoy. “But I might be willing to put in a good word with Neville and to help you organize the storerooms if I can stop brewing potions in my office.”

“That’s all right, he owled,” Malfoy said. He looked amused again. “I told you everyone else had. He wanted to know if I’d outgrown being a sanctimonious prick, and he also suggested that he’d be perfectly willing to let things go if I happened to have some roaming jequirity seeds that I was willing to pass over.”

“Well?” Hermione said.

“They’re sitting on his desk,” Malfoy said.

“I just want you to know,” Hermione said, “that I reserve the right to feel some degree of schadenfreude about the fact that you’re stuck in a castle with me and Neville.” She grinned. “And Bill Weasley occasionally shows up to teach Charms.”

“He’s all right,” Malfoy said. “We did some work together in Egypt. Curse breaking potions are more interesting than you’d think.”

“I think they’re probably exactly as interesting as I’d think, which is very,” Hermione said. “But I’m impressed you managed to talk him into being in the same country.”

“You know,” Malfoy said, “it’s surprisingly easy to get people over the whole thing once you figure out what they want.”

“And?” Hermione said.

“He couldn’t get into an entire series of tombs without me,” Malfoy said, amused. “And I took a very solid punch to the jaw. I wouldn’t recommend that one, but it seemed to do the trick.”

“Don’t try to tell me you’re friends with Harry too,” Hermione said. “I think he’d have mentioned it.”

“God, no,” Malfoy said. He actually laughed. “He doesn’t have anything _I_ want.”

“And I do?” Hermione said.

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re the only people in the castle under the age of fifty with the exception of Longbottom, and he just got married,” Malfoy said. “I think he might be too distracted to occupy my attention.”

“We’re the only staff under the age of fifty,” she corrected.

“Seventeen and under seems like a suspect category for –“ He paused, looking as if he was considering something. “Research alliances.”

“It’s going to be a housekeeping and mail order alliance first,” Hermione warned. “You don’t understand the state the potions dungeon is in.”

“I’m very much looking forward to tomorrow morning and the delight of discovering that horror show,” Malfoy said.

“If you’ll let me move cauldrons out of my bath, I’ll help,” Hermione said. “I’m between batches.”

“You’re brewing potions in your –“ Malfoy paused. He looked as if he might be trying not to say something.

“I know, I haven’t been able to use it for its intended purpose in a year because the temperature and humidity would ruin everything,” Hermione said. “And I’d like to. Are you taking me up on it or not?”

“Yes,” Malfoy said. “But I meant it about the list.”

“You’re going to be short on time,” Hermione said. “I’ve been managing, honestly.”

“Managing isn’t the same as doing well,” Malfoy said. “And if I have to argue everyone into letting me do my job, I’m not going to have any time to actually do it.”

“I’ll bring it tomorrow,” Hermione said. She paused. “Just like that, then? We’re going to…”

“It’s been ten years,” Malfoy said. “Do you really want to keep the whole thing going, or would you rather start over?”

“Start over,” Hermione said. She was startled to find that she meant it.

“Goodnight then, Granger,” he said, ducking back out the portrait as she held it open.

By lunch the next day, Hermione was seriously beginning to regret her decision to tolerate Malfoy.

“Hens’ teeth –“ she said, opening a drawer in one of the storage cabinets. It was empty, which seemed fortunate, since the stabilizing charm obviously hadn’t been renewed in a timely fashion. “Empty. Should I add them to the list?”

The chalkboard in the dungeon was nearly filled with a list of ingredients and supplies to order; the chalk leapt up to the board again when she glanced at it, as if it felt vaguely guilty for lying around on Malfoy’s desk.

“Damn, I saw some of those,” Malfoy said. “I think they’re in the drawer that’s supposed to be lupine seeds.”

Hermione had taken the upper half of the drawers and the ceiling shelves, which was starting to seem like an idiotic decision given the fact that Malfoy probably wouldn’t have needed the bloody ladder. He was sitting on the floor looking irritably at a row of vials of blue liquid. He held one up to her floating light charm and shook his head.

“No idea,” he said. “It could be oil of peacock, it could be a pH buffer. I’d know if I tasted it, but even I’m not that stupid.”

“For all we know, it’s water with indigo dye,” Hermione said.

“I miss Africa,” Malfoy said. “It rained half the time and camp flooded and all my labels ran and ants ate my samples, but at least the chaos wasn’t due to sheer negligence.”

“Well, I found these,” Hermione said. She cast a cleaning charm on the drawer, added the hens’ teeth, and renewed the stasis spell.

“This is ridiculous,” Malfoy said. “I’m fairly certain there’s no strangling kelp, what was he even teaching the fifth years? You need that for all the soporifics.”

“He wasn’t,” Hermione said. “I’ve got plenty of it upstairs, though.”

“I think I’m going to have to have things shipped on the train,” Malfoy said. “I can’t possibly subject owls to this.”

He dismissed the vials with a flick of his wand. Hermione had to resist the urge to laugh; he had a streak of what looked like charcoal across one cheek and some sort of purple slime in his hair from a stabilizing charm failure that had led to a rather spectacular explosion out of a jar. The rest of his hair looked nearly as bad as Harry’s usually did, and his robes were covered in dust. She assumed she probably didn’t look much better, but she’d never been as fastidious as Malfoy.

“The hell with it,” he said. “I’ll buy you lunch in Hogsmeade. I can’t get through any more of this without alcohol.”

“It’s not even noon,” Hermione said, amused.

“Scotch,” Malfoy said, darkly. “A lot of it.”

“I think –“ Hermione said. She pulled open a drawer, which promptly spat a puff of grey powder at her. She suspected it had been powdered deadly dappering spore. Malfoy had made her take a neutralizing potion before they’d started, so there really wasn’t much danger. Still: having toxic mushroom remnants all over her face was a bit much.

“I think you’re buying me something with firewhiskey,” Hermione finished.

“Happily,” Malfoy said, standing up. He started to dust himself off, then paused when his robes sparked. “But maybe a shower first.”

“Definitely a shower first,” Hermione said, trying to wipe off the worst of the powder. “Can I use one down here? I’ve been sharing with the Head Girl because of the whole bath situation, I’d rather not poison the new one when she gets here.”

“You know,” Malfoy said. “I’m going to send a Howler. I might even send more than one. Perhaps weekly for the term. He’ll come to enjoy them, I expect.”

“You’re sort of worked up about the whole bath thing,” Hermione observed.

“I hate people who don’t do things properly,” Malfoy said. “And I hate it even more when other people have to pick up the slack for their ineptitude.”

“A Malfoy with a work ethic,” Hermione said. “That’s new.”

“Imagine my surprise at discovering I had one,” Malfoy said.

“How did you get into –“ Hermione gestured. “This, anyway?”

“I was doing the right thing for the wrong reasons,” Malfoy said. “I thought I might be able to – I don’t know, make things right about Snape. I think I was trying for some kind of penance.” He looked wryly amused. “He’d probably find it funny that I ended up liking it. He used to tell me that nothing was worth doing if you didn’t bother doing it well.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Hermione said. “Why you took the job, I mean.”

“No,” Malfoy said. “I got a lot of university students when I was working in Africa. I like teaching. McGonagall offered, and I wanted…” He looked up at her. “You ended up here. The appeal can’t be completely lost on you.”

“Funny,” Hermione said, stepping down. “The appeal actually was entirely lost on me when I decided to come, but –“ She considered how much she really wanted to say. “You’re not the only one who ended up liking something you thought would be a punishment.”

Malfoy looked at her for a long moment. “I guess we might have something in common,” he said.

“An intense dislike of Horace Slughorn and the hope that the lunch special is shepherd’s pie?” Hermione said, lightly. She wasn’t entirely prepared to think about letting Malfoy see any real parts of herself.

“You say intense dislike, I say hatred,” Malfoy said. “Also, shepherd’s pie is a terrible invention, I can’t fathom what anyone was thinking when they started making it.”

“I assume they weren’t bothering to think of heathens like you,” Hermione said.

“Watch it,” Malfoy said. “It’s not my fault Slytherins have decent taste.”

“I’m surprised the Sorting Hat hasn’t incorporated that into its song,” Hermione said. “You know, cunning, ambition, and a hatred of delicious lunch dishes.”

“Too right,” Malfoy agreed, but he was laughing.

It took them the rest of the afternoon and the next morning to finish getting the stores in order, though Hermione considered it time well spent since Malfoy had started most of the infirmary potions.

“If you want them done properly, I can’t do these until the full moon,” he’d said, when she’d showed up the second morning. “And I’m going to have to wait until the restocking order shows up for these three.” There was already a rather large stack of potions on his desk, all of which had thorough labels in neat handwriting.

“This wasn’t on the list,” Hermione said, startled.

“I made an executive decision,” Malfoy said. “The anxiolytics you listed are effectively useless.” He was casting spells to remove cobwebs; Hermione was fairly certain the spider exodus was nearly as bad as when they’d had a basilisk in the castle. “But you knew that already.”

“This is above my clearance to brew, and I haven’t been able to order it in years, they can’t ship it to me,” Hermione said. “And I don’t know where you found selkie fur.”

“I have my ways,” Malfoy said, coughing as a cascade of dust came down off a shelf onto his head. There was, fortunately, a shielding charm on the cauldrons sitting at the back of the room. “Give me a new list of things you actually want, not things you’ve been getting by with.”

“I’ll think about it,” Hermione said.

“What – bugger,” Malfoy said, levitating a small, squirming mouse out from behind a cupboard. He glared at it. “If you don’t leave and take all your brethren with you, I’m going to have first years dice your tails up.”

He dropped the mouse in the hallway and it fled.

“I may have to let you borrow Crookshanks,” Hermione said.

“I may have to get a cat,” Malfoy said. “And quit –“ He shoved the cupboard over, casting cleaning spells with a sigh. His smelled faintly of sage. “Granger –“ He finally stood up, walking over to her. More like stalking over, really, if she thought about it. She vaguely remembered how he’d moved as a teenager, and she could see the connection, although he’d never made her step back before. He stopped, not quite too close but on the edge of it.

“I’m only saying it once more,” he said. “I have every intention of being good at my job. Somewhere in the eighty-page contract I signed is a stipulation that part of said job includes brewing medicinal potions for you. I’ve got several hundred books on the matter, a rather good network of academics who are happy to trade me ingredients, and a decent connection to the black market if all else fails on rare ingredients. Not to mention that I’m probably the world’s expert on African medicinal plants because I literally wrote the bloody book on them.” He was looking down at her. “Quit playing small with your requests. It’s insulting. The only thing you’d possibly be thinking about is what you thought I could or couldn’t do.”

“Don’t try to intimidate me into things,” Hermione said, meeting his gaze. “I don’t like it.”

“Don’t treat me like I’m incapable and it won’t be necessary,” Malfoy said.

“I thought you were playing nice with the Gryffindors,” Hermione said.

“I never play nice,” Malfoy corrected. He looked irritated. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m domesticated these days, Granger, you’ll be very sorry.”

“Was there a point to pretending to be friendly?” Hermione said. He stepped forward. She didn’t step back again.

“I’m not playing games,” he said. “I want what I said I wanted, which is a fresh start. But you can’t possibly think that I’d find it acceptable that a castle of children would go without something just because it was a challenge. That’s not how I work. You’ve read my books, you know it.”

Hermione took a moment. “Don’t ever accuse me of playing small again,” she said.

“Don’t do it and I won’t,” Malfoy said. 

He turned, going back to the cupboard, and Hermione drew in a breath. In the space of a moment, he’d returned to looking faintly annoyed at rodent interruptions without a single trace of the intensity he’d been showing. But he was right: she knew exactly how capable he was. Her list seemed almost unimportant and certainly not worth the trouble of arguing over, but she thought about the few times someone had accused her of taking a position that was beneath her. That hadn’t gone over well either.

“Do you have a quill?” she said, finally.

“In the top desk drawer,” Malfoy said. “Write that down then help me figure out what to do about all this soot on the ceiling.”

Hermione looked up. “Scrubbing spells?” she said, doubtfully.

“I think I’m going to have to dissolve some of the bloody rock,” Malfoy said.

“On the bright side, you have an entire weekend before the students show up,” Hermione said.

“Oh, that long,” Malfoy said. “On second thought, I might want to borrow the cat after all.”

Hermione didn’t see Malfoy for a few days; Neville and the rest of the staff came back, and she spent the weekend reorganizing her office and reading for inordinately long periods of time in the bath. She’d discovered another full batch of potions in the infirmary on Sunday morning along with an annotated copy of her list. Most of the things that weren’t crossed off had a “currently brewing” next to them. There were a few others that had notes about why Malfoy couldn’t start them, but there was only one that he’d circled. It was slightly raised, and when she touched the ink, a second note appeared.

_I’m checking Fisher and Lowe, 1992_ , it said. _Isn’t this solely theoretical, Granger?_

“You said anything,” Hermione informed the note. She was putting away the last of the migraine draughts when another piece of paper appeared.

_Nearly well-played, but it’s not impossible. 10 points to Gryffindor for tenacity._

“Go away,” Hermione told it. Her entire list shimmered and disappeared.

“Damn it,” she said. “Ten points from Slytherin for stubborn idiocy.”

She felt a vague uncertainty in the castle’s magic; it wasn’t term and the house points had all been set to zero. She realized that she’d played directly into his hand. “Ten points back,” she said. The slightly uncomfortable feeling went away, and she resisted the urge to send an owl to the dungeons with some sort of witty retort.

He took a seat next to her at the head table before the Sorting Feast.

“If I bribe you with an exceptionally good vintage, could I get you to help me unpack these crates?” he said. Malfoy, apparently, didn’t feel the need to concern himself with small talk.

“Since you’ve got wine,” she said.

“I’m also capable of delivering an excellent chocolate torte,” Malfoy said. “The elves missed me.”

“I highly doubt that,” Hermione said.

“Oh, all right, I bribed them,” Malfoy said. “But I still have excellent chocolate torte.”

“How do you even –“ Hermione began, but Malfoy grinned, sudden and surprisingly bright.

“Got you,” he said.

“I could probably help,” she said, thoughtfully. “Since I don’t have to deal with any first years tonight. You know, not being anyone’s Head of House.”

“The prefects say you’re very kind when the first years get sad and homesick,” Malfoy said, still grinning. “They even implied that you hand out cocoa. I can’t imagine I’ll be much use for anything other than getting them to the dungeons.”

“She does,” Neville said, leaning over. He looked amused. “I just stick a redirect charm on my office door and they all go bother her instead.”

“Oh, so you don’t send his first years right back,” Malfoy said. “That sounds like Gryffindor favoritism if you ask me.”

“If I’m helping the first years, I can’t help you unpack crates,” Hermione pointed out.

“Can so,” Malfoy said. “They’re too new to realize that you don’t live in the Potions classroom. If anyone has a problem, they can find you there.” He still looked smug. “And it’ll be closer for the Slytherins.”

“Torte and wine and don’t even think of sending me any Gryffindors,” she warned Neville.

“Damn, that backfired,” Neville said.

“Should have known better,” she said.

“Bribery is always an excellent fall back, Longbottom,” Malfoy said. “It even appears to work on Granger.”

“That’s a great strategy,” Neville said, looking amused. “Wait until you’ve got your first class of Gryffindor and Slytherin first years, see how well it works.”

McGonagall shot them a look, and Hermione refilled her wine glass; the Sorting and speeches seemed to take longer every year. She was briefly surprised when McGonagall introduced Malfoy and there was rather thunderous applause – she looked out and realized that even the seventh years were too young to have really known about any role the Malfoys had played in the war. And the students had despised Slughorn.

“Well, they’re doomed,” Neville remarked under his breath. “So optimistic and so destined for disappointment.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Malfoy said. “I have every intention of winning them all over.”

“Professor Malfoy, did you have something you wished to say?” McGonagall said, pointedly.

“Only that I’m very much looking forward to meeting everyone,” Malfoy said. He very nearly sounded sincere. There was another round of applause.

“Poor, deluded children,” Neville whispered.

“I feel very sorry for them,” Hermione murmured.

“Careful, I won’t ask for torte,” Malfoy said, once McGonagall had finished speaking and the room and descended into noise again.

“Careful, I won’t come unpack your crates,” Hermione said.

“And to think I thought having you here was going to be unpleasant,” Neville said. “No one’s ever willing to talk back to Hermione.”

“Because everyone else is smart enough to know better,” Hermione said. “I think Malfoy’s fallen on his head recently.”

“I know Malfoy’s fallen on his head recently, he’s not horrible these days,” Neville said.

“Just you wait,” Malfoy said.

“Really, let me know how it goes with the first years,” Neville said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m going to go talk to the Head Boy.”

“You know, I think he might not hate you,” Hermione said, after he’d gone down the stairs.

“Shocking, isn’t it?” Malfoy murmured.

“And I’m almost enjoying your company,” she said. “I don’t know what to make of it.”

“High praise,” Malfoy said. “I suppose it might be said that I’m tolerating yours. I’ll stop once I’ve finished using you for help with potions, though.”

Hermione laughed. “Let me know how that works with this whole undying vow never to let my stock of fever reducers run low,” she said.

“It’s unbreakable,” Malfoy said, straight-faced. “I’d die before I let that happen.”

Later, watching Malfoy go into ecstasies over his new potions ingredients, Hermione considered the fact that Neville appeared to actually have let things go. He was usually a better judge of character than she was, and if she was honest, he was usually more cautious too. The fact that he didn’t seem to think Malfoy was anything to get worked up over was slightly unexpected, but the truth was that… he wasn’t. She suspected that if she could move on, if she could get past the fact that Malfoy wasn’t the same person that he’d been a decade before, she might not entirely hate him. In fact, evidence suggested that they might even get along.

“You’re thinking too hard for someone who’s had three glasses of wine,” Malfoy said. “Come see how perfect these dragon scales are.”

“Oh, all right,” Hermione said. It was somehow much easier than arguing with herself about the whole thing.

The next morning, Hermione was in her office when every alarm spell in the infirmary started to go off. She took the corridor at a dead run; the fact that all of them had gone off suggested that someone in the castle needed her, and the spells weren’t overly sensitive. One of the seventh year Hufflepuffs burst into the room a moment later.

“Professor Malfoy says to tell you –“ she was breathing hard. “He said I should get here first.”

“What happened?” Hermione demanded.

“I don’t know,” she said. “It was all right and then –“

“Get out of my _way_ ,” she heard from the staircase, and then Malfoy was there, an unconscious girl in his arms. She was completely asleep.

“Damn it,” Hermione said. “Get her down here.“

“I know,” Malfoy said. He was casting half the same spells she was, and Hermione could feel the strange sensation down her spine that meant her magic was linking with someone else’s.

“She’s breathing normally,” she said, reaching to touch her, and Malfoy stepped back quickly. He almost ruined her monitoring charm.

“Don’t touch her,” Malfoy said. He was breathing hard too. “I’m not sure it’s safe.”

Hermione didn’t bother to argue the point that if something was truly unsafe, Malfoy probably shouldn’t have carried her. She cast another series of spells, noting as Malfoy set her on a bed that it was Natalie Hemmings; she was one of the brightest Ravenclaws. She remembered her at eleven, showing up after tripping down a staircase with a broken wrist – she’d started the same year Hermione had. She threw a series of stasis spells onto her and Malfoy finally let go.

“She’s okay, just asleep,” Hermione said. “I need you to tell me –“

He looked at her for a long moment, walked over to her sink, and was promptly sick.

“You,“ he said, after he straightened up, looking at the girl who had come in first. “Tell me your name again.”

“Lavinia,” Hermione said.

“Right,” Malfoy said. “Twenty points to Hufflepuff for your exceptionally fast running. Go tell the rest of the class that they’re dismissed. And if anyone got even the slightest bit of that on themselves or if it took them more than three minutes to get out of the room they’d better come up here.“

“You said that already,” Lavinia said. “That they needed to follow you to the infirmary straight away.” She looked pale. “Is Natalie going to be all right?”

“She’s perfectly fine,” Hermione said, firmly. “Really.”

“Everyone’s in the hall,” Lavinia said.

“Okay,” Malfoy said. He ducked out the doorway for a moment, waiting for Lavinia to follow, and Hermione heard the low tone of his voice before there was a rush of footsteps down the stairs.

“What in the hell happened?” she said. “I mean, nothing’s wrong, exactly, but nothing’s waking her up either.”

“She tried to levitate a cauldron of Belle Dormant,” he said.

“And you were brewing a bloody coma potion without an antidote on hand?” Hermione said. “Honestly, you were brewing a coma potion at all? I told you they had absolutely no experience with anything advanced.”

“Of course I had the antidote, I gave it to her,” Malfoy said. “I gave her three vials, actually. But I don’t think people usually douse themselves in it during the first stage of brewing.”

“Tell me that first next time,” Hermione said. “Better yet, don’t have a next time.”

“I didn’t think –“ Malfoy said. “I knew they weren’t experienced, but it’s a stable potion if you don’t take a bath in it. It’s supposed to be on the third-year curriculum and they’re bloody seventh year NEWT students. I just didn’t think anyone would be stupid enough to try to levitate a cauldron full of potions ingredients.” He looked pale and furious. “There’s a difference between not teaching students the right thing and not teaching them anything at all.”

“The only students you’re going to be able to teach at level are the first years,” she said.

“A fact that I’ve suddenly been made acutely aware of,” Malfoy snapped.

“Don’t –“ Hermione said, then sighed. He looked utterly horrified and rather guilty. “I should have said more. McGonagall really should have said more. But it’ll be all right. It’s not the worst potions accident I’ve seen.” She paused. “Not by a long shot, actually.”

“Didn’t any of you think to do anything about the entire situation?” Malfoy demanded.

“Of course I did,” Hermione said. “When that started happening, McGonagall made Slughorn agree not to teach any dangerous potions. The students haven’t been learning anything, but I stopped getting –“ She paused. “Well. This kind of thing.”

“And the road to hell is paved with good intentions,” Malfoy said, bitterly.

“I’m going to need more of the antidote,” Hermione said, finally. “And if there’s any left, a sample of what got on her. But she’s perfectly all right until we sort it out.”

“It’s all over the floor,” Malfoy said. “I’ve got to get back down there before my next class walks through it and falls asleep too.”

“I’ll see if there’s anything in my books about an overdose on this,” she said. “I’ll owl Mungo’s too. But most of the time it’s a proportionate dose of the antidote given via the same mechanism. So we may just have to dunk her in a dilute bath of it.”

“Thank you,” Malfoy said, finally.

“It’s my job,” Hermione said. “Try not to send anyone else up here today, though.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got first years,” Malfoy said. “It’s a safety lecture and cutting up spearmint. If I can’t manage that safely, I should probably resign.”

“You won’t if I have anything to say about it,” Hermione said. She bit the corner of her lip; Malfoy was right that no one had properly warned him. “If you bring your lesson plans to my office tonight, I can try to set you straight on who can do what.” She paused. “Honestly, she should have known better. The seventh years had at least a few years of Slughorn being decent. But they’ve gotten sloppy.”

“Presumably from never having to learn that potions can be dangerous,” Malfoy said, but there wasn’t any real bite to it. “I’ll bring you more of the antidote.”

In seven years, Hermione hadn’t lost a student. If she was honest, there had been remarkably few near misses for a group of teenagers living in a castle of dangerous things. Probably more to the point, Natalie wasn’t actually in danger, she was just unconscious. Still, Hermione was relieved when she woke up sputtering in a very cold bath of antidote.

“Oh, thank god,” Malfoy said, then: “Granger, can I take a thousand points from Ravenclaw? What were you thinking?”

“Malfoy, not the time or place,” Hermione said, firmly. “Go find her some tea.”

“He seems sort of… intense,” Natalie said, when she was safely wrapped in quite a few blankets and on her third mug of tea. Hermione had finally sent Malfoy off to do something useful like chop spearmint. His broody pacing had been a bit over the top.

“He was also very intense when he bolted up here because he was worried about you,” Hermione said. “Not to mention keeping all your classmates from getting hurt.”

“I know, I know,” she said. “It was stupid. We were supposed to carry them over. But they’re untippable cauldrons. So I just thought…”

“Cauldrons are designed to be magically neutral,” Hermione said, mildly. “Meaning that spells can’t keep a grip on them.”

“I –“ She buried her face in her hands. “What if Professor Malfoy thinks I’m a terrible student and really does take a thousand points and won’t let me stay in NEWT level potions?”

Hermione was reminded again of the fact that Ravenclaws occasionally had terrible priorities. And of the fact that her priorities at seventeen had probably been equally terrible.

“I think he’s glad you’re okay,” Hermione said. “Accidents happen.”

The pacing, as it turned out, seemed to be something Malfoy was loath to give up, even after dinner in her office. Hermione finally looked up from the sofa after he’d made approximately the sixtieth circuit around her desk.

“If you don’t sit down, I’m going to hex you to the chair,” she said. “I’m not afraid to use Unforgiveables, Malfoy.”

“I think –“ he started, then went back to pacing.

“Malfoy,” Hermione said, then finished the scroll she was reading. “I think this is fine for the second years.”

“You actually have to ingest that one for it to have any effect,” he muttered. “Not that I’m not concerned about that eventuality.”

“Malfoy!” Hermione said. She got up and stood directly in his path, forcing him to stop abruptly.

“What are you doing?” he said.

“I get it,” she said. “It wasn’t a great first day. The second years blew things up. The seventh years attempted to commit suicide via cauldron. I assume the first years probably did something stupid, they’re first years. You weren’t prepared, which wasn’t actually your fault, and you think you should go home and let someone else handle it before anyone gets killed.”

“Something like that,” he muttered.

“Look,” she said. “I suggested you for the job. Actually, you were the only person I wanted for the job, and I was still operating under the impression that you were a racist, elitist Slytherin with delusions of grandeur.”

“I’m not sure I ever –“ Malfoy said. “Oh, all right, I deserved that.”

“My point is,” Hermione said. “My job is to keep them safe. If you want me to trust you to do yours, you’d better trust me to do mine. I wouldn’t have told McGonagall to hire you if I didn’t think you could teach them.”

“I obviously can’t,” Malfoy said. “Apparently you were mistaken.”

“Malfoy,” Hermione said. “How long has Neville been here?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Three or four years?”

“Six, actually,” she said. “And he had the same mix of years as you.” She tried not to laugh, because it wasn’t going to help anything. “One of his seventh years sliced his hand open while cutting up water hemlock root, and the student wasn’t going to tell him about it. It was only, you know, the copious amounts of blood all over the place that tipped him off. And he had a first year get lost in a greenhouse and somehow stumble into a bee hive, apparently with some truly nasty bees. And his second years destroyed a bed of something or another, he was very unhappy at lunch.”

“But he’s good,” Malfoy said. “Everyone says he’s good. The students seem to like him.”

“Of course he’s good,” Hermione said. “That’s my point. The first day is miserable for everyone. And we’d be a terrible school if we coddled them, so we don’t. But that means that sometimes they get into things. Which is why I’m around. When I came out here, I thought I’d be handing out Pepper Up and contraceptive potions and stitching up a few cuts. But my job is actually challenging most of the time.”

“Oh,” Malfoy said, finally.

“Now who’s playing small,” Hermione said, going back to the sofa. “You can’t get in my face about how seriously you’re taking your job and then panic at the first sign of trouble.”

“I’m good at potions and university students,” he said, sitting in her loveseat. Crookshanks leapt into his lap. “I’m suddenly not so sure about teenagers. One of the first years came and cried in my office.” He was staring at the fireplace and looking brooding again. “I wasn’t really sure what to do about it, so I gave him some toffee and told him that I was sure his parents would owl soon.”

“Did it work?” Hermione said.

“I’m not sure,” Malfoy said. He’d started petting Crookshanks; apparently they’d made friends while Crookshanks was clearing out the dungeons. “He stopped crying.”

“Then it worked,” Hermione said. “He’s probably owling his parents at this very moment about how great his Head of House is.” She grinned. “They’ll send you a grateful note and a bottle of scotch or something.”

“Is that a thing?”

“I have more alcohol than I could possibly drink,” Hermione said. “And I had to give away half the chocolate last year, I couldn’t eat all of it. I keep the notes, at least. They’re usually sweet.”

“I suppose tomorrow is another day,” Malfoy said. “It’s not as if you can just call Slughorn back, which is probably for the best.”

“You’ll be fine,” she said, tossing a scroll at him.

“Hello?” someone said. There was a knock on her office door, which she supposed usually wasn’t closed.

“Come on in,” she said.

“I thought we were working on –“ Malfoy said.

“Busy?” someone said, sticking his head around the door frame. She recognized the exceptionally messy brown hair.

“Rory!” she said, with a grin.

“And Thomas and Peter and Lena,” he said. “We thought you might have missed us. Oh, hello. I think you’re our new Head of House, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Malfoy said. “Slytherins?” he mouthed at her behind a hand, looking confused.

“Rory Locke, sixth year,” Rory said. “We just wanted to say hello.” He was looking at Malfoy skeptically. “We’ve got tea and scones, we nicked it from the kitchens. If you’re not busy.”

“We’re not,” she said. Malfoy made a small noise of protest. “The rest of you could probably come in from the hall.”

“Thank god, this is terrifically heavy,” Thomas said, levitating a plate of scones.

“Ugh, you think you’re so funny,” Lena said, stepping around him. “Hi, Dr. Granger.”

“Would you get out of the way?” Peter said. “We’re never going to get to the bloody scones if –“ He stopped. “Professor Malfoy?”

“I said he was in here, didn’t I?” Rory said, flopping down on the rug in front of the fire. Crookshanks went to say hello.

“I think half of England heard you, yes,” Lena said. “Where am I putting this tea?”

“On the desk?” Hermione said. “Where it usually goes?”

“Hello,” Draco said. He sounded cautious.

“They’re sixth years,” Hermione said. “They like to terrorize me on a regular basis. You’ve just met Rory, that’s Thomas Ryan, Lena Tuppington, and Peter Selwyn.”

“Shove over,” Lena said, sitting next to Rory. Hermione had discovered that Slytherins, apparently, didn’t like to stand so much as drape themselves over every available surface.

“I think you were in school with my uncle,” Peter said. “He was a sixth year when you were first or something, though. You’re the same year as Dr. Granger, aren’t you?”

“We were, yes,” Hermione said.

“Toby Selwyn?” Malfoy said.

“That’s him,” Peter said. He was looking at Malfoy a little warily. Hermione abruptly remembered that his family traveled in the same social circles as the Malfoys, although they hadn’t really chosen a side during the war. Malfoy tensed, although it was subtle enough that Hermione almost missed it.

“Don’t worry, I’ll vouch that Professor Malfoy’s not terrible,” she said, lightly. “He hasn’t even taken any points today. And he had first years.”

“You haven’t?” Rory said. “Not even from Gryffindors?”

“I keep forgetting I can do it,” Malfoy said, ruefully.

“I’ve got you tomorrow,” Thomas said. “The rest of them don’t know what’s good for them and are off doing Charms.”

“You’re just a masochist,” Lena said. “You could’ve had Slughorn all seven years, you don’t know.”

“Hey, you liked his parties,” Thomas said.

“Well, yes, those had food,” she said. Rory was already on his second scone.

“I think Thomas is going to be your only halfway decent student,” Hermione said, laughing. “But I’m biased, he’s been taking lessons from me for the past few years.”

“Yeah, I came to see if you were free Thursday nights,” Thomas said. “I mean, and because Rory’s been pining over you all day. We figured he needed chaperones before he did something stupid like writing you a sonnet again.”

“It was a good sonnet,” Rory said.

“It was a terrible sonnet,” Peter said. He finally came to sit in the other armchair. “And you were going on and on about Dr. Granger at dinner, you were probably thinking of doing daft things again.”

Rory had asked her to the Yule ball – which McGonagall had decided to make a yearly event – three years running. He seemed rather unrepentant about his crush.

“Just because you haven’t got eyes,” Rory said.

“Boys,” Lena said.

“Maybe she got married or something over the summer,” Peter said. “You never know.”

“No wedding ring and anyway, Professor Longbottom married what’s-her-face from the tavern, not Dr. Granger,” Rory said.

“Yes, because Scotland is limited to one wedding a year,” Lena said.

“Right here,” Hermione said, mildly. “Sitting on the sofa in front of you.”

“Gloriously,” Rory said. He’d gone for a third scone.

“So, Thursdays,” Thomas said.

“You actually have a decent professor now,” Hermione said. “No more lessons in my office.”

“Oh,” Thomas said. He looked at Malfoy speculatively. “Would you do extra lessons?”

“Ah,” Malfoy said.

“Say yes,” Hermione murmured.

“Of course,” Malfoy said. “Maybe you could come by my office and tell me where you and Granger left off.”

“Oh, last name basis,” Rory said. “You two must get along swimmingly.”

“Don’t be a prat just because you’re jealous,” Thomas said. “Ignore him, he’s an idiot.”

“I’m not jealous,” Rory protested. “Hermione knows how I feel. She just can’t return my affection yet because there’s some statute.”

“ _We_ are not on a first name basis,” Hermione teased. “But you can give me one of those scones.”

“You’re going to give in someday,” Rory said. “I can tell. The age difference doesn’t matter so much with witches and wizards, you know. And I’ll be out of school and –”

“God, shut it,” Peter said. “D’you want to hear what happened in Transfiguration today? It was brilliant.”

“Oh, I thought McGonagall was going to kill Larson,” Lena said. “He turned Sarah’s tea kettle into a –“

“Shh,” Rory said. “You can’t discuss that sort of thing with Dr. Granger. She has class.”

Thomas snorted. “Pretty sure we come up here all the time because she thinks that sort of thing’s funny as hell.”

“Rory, I hate to break it to you, but I’m not all that innocent,” she said. “I’m pretty sure I can handle an explicit tea kettle or two.”

“Quit ruining my gossip, Rory,” Lena said. “Oh my god, how many scones have you eaten? Leave some for the rest of us.”

“I’m growing or something,” Rory said. “Besides, Peter can always get more.”

“Not if you’re going to eat another five of them, I can’t,” Peter said. “The house elves will go on strike.”

It took half an hour for them to apprise her of all the Slytherin gossip, at which point a second year showed up looking faintly green.

“Er, entertain Professor Malfoy for ten minutes,” she said, taking her to the infirmary.

When she came back, her office was quiet.

“They left, something about an essay on the importance of taking Transfigurations seriously,” Malfoy said. “Are they all like that? And I thought you were kidding about the Slytherins.”

Hermione laughed, popping the last bite of her scone in her mouth. She’d had to abandon it. “You get used to it,” she said. “Lena got hexed second year and had to stay in the infirmary for a week, the rest of them kept sneaking in at all hours.” She smiled. “So I gave them some of the other beds and earned their undying loyalty. I really just wanted them to stop setting off the alarm spells at two in the morning, but it worked out in my favor.”

“They’re awfully friendly with you, considering,” Malfoy said.

“You mean because they’re Slytherins?” she said, stretching out on the couch again.

“I wasn’t going to put it like that, but yes.”

“The house rivalry isn’t as intense as it used to be,” she said. “Well, it is, but there’s not much nastiness to it. There’s a lot more playing dumb pranks on each other than dueling in the halls.” She grinned. “And by the time they get to sixth or seventh year, I’d say there are more couples between them than any of the other houses.” She considered. “Or in houses, even. Kind of strange.”

“You know what they say about love and hate,” Draco said, dryly.

“Something like that,” Hermione said. “And anyway, I’m not Head of a House and I don’t play favorites, so they don’t really think about it.”

“I’m not sure I’m going to have that luxury,” Malfoy said.

“No,” Hermione said. “But you’re in serious trouble with this lot if you start favoring Slytherins. They’ve never had a professor who did that sort of thing. I mean, they expect Neville to be closer with the Gryffindors outside of the classroom because he sees them more, but they’re a lot less… insular than we used to be.”

“I wasn’t intending on imitating every aspect of Snape’s life,” Malfoy said. “Or any of them, really.” He looked slightly offended.

“Sorry,” Hermione said. “I’m still getting used to – well. You.”

“I can’t promise that I’m going to get it all right on the first pass, but I’ll be fair,” Malfoy said.

“You’re going to make mistakes,” Hermione said. “A lot of them, honestly. I still do. But –“ She propped herself on one elbow to look at him. “You’re exceptional at what you do. They need that. So don’t back down just because it’s hard.”

“Oh, a compliment,” Malfoy said. “Be careful with that.”

Hermione found, astonishingly, that Malfoy was easy to get used to. He took to hanging around her office in the evenings for reasons she couldn’t entirely fathom; it meant a lot more students, but it also meant that a few of the Slytherins and Ravenclaws she’d never had a particularly strong relationship with got used to her. They seemed to like him. She’d thought Malfoy would be good at teaching, but she’d never really expected that he’d be – well, popular.

A truly surprising number of students started showing up for his office hours, and most of the older students were actually asking for extra reading and help outside of class. It got so bad that Malfoy started holding a remedial potions class after dinner on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

“I’m behind on literally everything,” he said, after a few weeks of it. He was taking up the entirety of her sofa and looking with irritation at what Hermione thought was a journal article. “I can’t even keep up on reading, and I keep forgetting to send my robes down to the laundry, I had to wear my bloody dress robes today.”

“It’s nice of you to give up your free time for them,” Hermione said.

Malfoy looked up and stared at her. “Did you just call me nice?”

“Er, no,” Hermione said. “I meant more like it was a nice thing to do.”

“You just called me nice,” Malfoy said, looking smug for a moment before he went back to frowning. “Have you read this stupid paper on bioluminescent ingredients? Jackson and a bunch of people I don’t recognize? I swear their methods are complete rubbish, but I can’t put my finger on why.”

“Didn’t control for temperature or salinity,” Hermione said. She was trying to organize charts in one of the file cabinets and not getting particularly far.

“Oh, that’s it,” Malfoy said. “Never mind, I’m not finishing it.”

“The only thing in that whole stack that’s worth anything is the Greenberg one on neutral ingredients.”

“You couldn’t have told me that before I started?” Malfoy said. He’d been at it for well over an hour.

“You couldn’t have asked?” Hermione said. 

“I’m not making that mistake twice, leave me your notes next time,” Malfoy said. “By the way, is there any chance you could take Thursday night? I’ve got something to do, but I don’t want them to get off track.”

“If you’ll make me a pain killing potion that actually works,” Hermione said. The files weren’t cooperating. “I’m getting a migraine.”

“I thought I gave you some of those,” Malfoy said. “Actually, I know I gave you some of those.”

“They’re perfectly useful for everyone else, but they don’t work on me,” Hermione said. “I keep having to take ibuprofen. It doesn’t work either.”

“It’s muggle medicine, of course it doesn’t,” Draco said.

“Aspirin and fever reducing potions are the same thing, and aspirin doesn’t taste terrible,” Hermione pointed out.

“Hmm,” Malfoy said. He was busy drawing something in the margins of one of the papers.

“I just became a medical puzzle, didn’t I,” Hermione said.

“You think you asked for a favor, I think you gave me ideas,” Malfoy said. “I’m going to go experiment with this.” He flicked a wand in her direction and closed the drawer.

“I was working on that,” Hermione protested.

“Staring at tiny print isn’t going to help anything,” Malfoy said. “Go find coffee and chocolate.”

“I don’t –“

“Haven’t you learned not to argue with me?” Malfoy said, amused. “I’m always right. You should know that by now.”

“Go do your bloody laundry,” Hermione said. He just laughed.

Malfoy somehow managed to talk her into teaching a medicinal potions class; she still wasn’t completely sure how she’d agreed to it, but the students seemed happy. It helped that Malfoy was very willing to bribe her with wine and torte, which really was annoyingly good and which the elves wouldn’t make for her. She still wasn’t sure how he’d talked them into giving it to him on a regular basis.

A week or two later, he came to lounge around her office later than usual. “Want to do something fun?” he said.

“I’m not sure we have the same definition of fun,” she said.

“Well, come walk around the lake with me,” Malfoy said. “You don’t have to do anything else if you don’t want to.”

“Walk around the lake at –“ Hermione glanced at her clock. “Eleven o’clock at night?”

“If we don’t hurry, I won’t be able to do anything by midnight, and then I’m going to have to wait until spring,” he said, as if the entire proposal was utterly reasonable. 

Hermione realized that she didn’t entirely mind the prospect of going for a walk with Malfoy, which was definitely… novel.

“Oh, all right, I’ll get my coat,” she said.

“I brought it already,” Malfoy said. She realized he’d been holding something behind his back.

“That was in my rooms, you know,” she said, mildly.

“Your portrait likes me,” Malfoy said. “Anyway, I knew you’d say yes, and it was on the way up so I thought I’d just save time.”

“I seem to recall having this vague illusion of, what was it,” Hermione said. “Oh, that’s right, privacy.”

“You’re not actually put out, so come on,” Malfoy said. 

He held her coat while she put it on – which was unexpected, but then again, it was Malfoy. He had strange ideas about manners and was still pulling out her chair at dinner.

He led her down past the greenhouses and over a crumbling wall, to a path that skirted between the lake and the Forbidden Forest. She rarely went so close to the forest at night, but somehow, she actually believed that Malfoy wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Trusting him felt strange, but when he put a hand out to help her down to the edge of the water, she took it.

“Well?” she said. “It’s too cold for skinny dipping, Malfoy.”

He checked his watch. “Neville and I made something.” He was looking at the water, and when she followed his gaze, she realized that there was something different about a small piece of the lake. The water was flowing differently, and it was almost as if there was light glinting just beneath the surface.

“Er, all right,” Hermione said. “Am I here to see it?”

“No, you’re here because I need to harvest Amazonian water lily roots under a full hunter’s moon and Neville wants these useless ligature liana seed pods that you can apparently only _see_ under a full moon. I’ve only got an hour,” he said.

“Malfoy,” she said, slowly. “I’m not a botanist, but I’m fairly certain those don’t grow in Scottish lakes.”

“Of course they don’t,” Malfoy said, looking offended. “I’m not that hopeless, Granger.” He was looking speculatively at the water. “Well, I suppose some of them do, technically.”

“How did you manage that?” she said, startled.

“It’s complicated,” he said, then looked at her. “Oh, all right, you know I used to work in the flooded forests in the Amazon. I need things I can’t get someone else to harvest halfway around the world, and Neville wanted to research the plants. So we planted one.”

“You stuck a rainforest at the bottom of the lake,” Hermione said.

“We stuck a flooded rainforest at the bottom of the lake,” Malfoy corrected. “It wouldn’t have worked if we couldn’t have water on both sides of the spells. The temperature and pH and the other parameters are different, but it’s still water.”

“That’s –“ she said. “Even the Magicozoology Society doesn’t do that sort of thing. It’s incredibly advanced magic.”

“You know perfectly well they couldn’t think their way out of a paper bag,” Malfoy said. “Anyway, no one ever seems to give Neville enough credit, he’s excellent at plants.”

“I knew that,” Hermione said.

“Not the extent of it,” Malfoy said. “He’s one of the best magicobotanists I’ve ever seen. I talked the merpeople into seeding everything, then he put an acceleration charm on the trees. We added the other plants a month ago, I had someone send samples from Brazil. He’s got this artificial sunlight charm on it so it matches the actual forest, but for some reason I don’t entirely understand, he claims I’ve got to go cut them at midnight our time.”

“So, just to clarify, there’s a perfectly functional rainforest at the bottom of the lake,” Hermione said.

“I said that already,” Draco said. “It’s almost midnight. I’m going to go dig up water lilies. You’re going to stay away from me and collect the liana seeds. It’s warm. I got Neville to push it and give us an extra few hours of daylight. Just, I don’t know, transfigure something into a bathing suit. I couldn’t find yours.”

“Malfoy,” Hermione said. “Were you digging through my wardrobe?”

“No, I tried to _accio_ it,” Malfoy said. “It didn’t work, so I decided it wasn’t worth the trouble.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Hermione said, mildly, “what were you going to do if I said no?”

“It’s very advanced translocation magic,” he said, pulling off his shirt. “You weren’t going to say no. Don’t worry, there aren’t any caimans or jaguars. Your seed pods are bright pink and about the size of your hand. There isn’t anything down there you can get confused about.”

“Malfoy!” she said, again, but he’d already transfigured his jeans and disappeared under the water. His head popped up a moment later. “Don’t forget not to touch the bottom, you’ll stir up all the silt.”

“Aren’t you going to be digging through it?” Hermione said.

“Yes, which is why I already told you not to go near me,” Malfoy said. He disappeared again.

It was the last week of October, which meant that Hermione wasn’t particularly keen on putting on a bathing suit. She was also intensely annoyed that Malfoy had presumed so much. But, if she was being completely honest, he’d been right: she was curious. 

“Damn it,” she said, folding her clothes on a rock and transfiguring her knickers into a perfectly reasonable swimsuit. She cast a bubble charm, trying not to let her teeth chatter, and waded in – at least, she tried to and realized why Malfoy had gone in so quickly, because the drop off was so steep that there really wasn’t a bottom close enough to step on.

It was strange – the top few inches of the water were freezing, but then it was warm. She had to blink in the sudden sunlight, even if it was cut by the water and the truly enormous _trees_.

Malfoy had written perfectly serviceable descriptions in one of the books, but she’d learned relatively quickly while reading his work that he didn’t seem particularly interested in flowery writing, so it caught her off guard. It was strange, seeing an entire forest underwater, and stranger still that the plants weren’t anything she’d ever have recognized.

She kicked her way through the canopy, pushing herself down with the help of some branches, and then had to stare again. There were fish instead of birds, though she didn’t have the faintest clue where Malfoy had gotten those. It was majestic, in a strange sort of way.

Malfoy was off somewhere near the bottom quite a way from her, or she assumed he was due to a small cloud of black silt. 

The water was clearer than she’d thought it would be, and it wasn’t hard to see the bright pink pods hanging off a few vines. She went to investigate, and a few minutes later she had enough of them to need to transfigure a bag out of a leaf. It wasn’t a particularly good bag, mostly because her wand didn’t always work well under water. There were a lot of plants, most of which she didn’t recognize, and she was fascinated. She wondered how Malfoy and Neville had ever managed, because she wouldn’t have had the faintest idea how to start. It was strange to realize there was an entire branch of magic she knew almost nothing about, but she could still admire the effect. 

She’d had to enlarge her rather leafy bag twice and was about to do it for a third time when something touched her shoulder. She whirled around to see Malfoy, who tapped his watch and pointed to the surface. Hermione was annoyed to realize that she had to leave, but they were definitely losing the light. Bubble charms didn’t last forever either.

When she broke the surface, she nearly went back under just to avoid the cold that suddenly hit her in the face.

“See, you didn’t hate it,” Malfoy said, coming up beside her. He sounded exactly as smug as usual. “I’m talking Neville into publishing something about it just to show up the Magicozoology Society.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Hermione said. “Which might be enough to save you from the fact that I’ve got to walk over and get my clothes and walk back to the castle without freezing to death.”

“Just because you’re terrible at warming charms doesn’t mean everyone is,” Malfoy said. She considered whether it would be in her best interest to punch him again once they were out of the lake.

“I’m not terrible at anything,” she said.

“Does that mean you want to walk over there without mine?” Malfoy said, innocently. “I can certainly arrange that.”

“I can certainly arrange for you to go fuck yourself,” Hermione said.

“No need to be snippy,” Malfoy said, and she was suddenly almost hot. She suspected it might be enough when she climbed out.

“You brought me out here in the middle of the night, you made me climb into some presumably piranha-infested forest, you’re trying to give me hypothermia, and –“ 

Hermione managed to pull herself back up onto the edge of the lake. She wasn’t entirely cold, which she didn’t feel like admitting to Malfoy. 

“And now you’re staring at me in my knickers,” she finished.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Malfoy said. “You’re in a bathing suit.” She could see him grin in the darkness. “Besides, you’re the one half naked by the lake in the middle of October, why did you think that was a good idea again?”

“I spent five entire minutes last night thinking I liked you,” Hermione said. “That was a terrible mistake.”

“Oh, come on,” Malfoy said. He’d climbed out too. “I wouldn’t have showed that to just anyone.”

“No, just people you’re using for their seed gathering abilities,” Hermione said, but she wasn’t actually all that annoyed with Malfoy after all. “Thank you.” He’d transfigured his jeans back and was buttoning his shirt. “For letting me see it, I mean. But you could probably just ask for help next time.”

“No, I can’t,” Malfoy said, brightly. “I have to fill my monthly quota of Slytherin manipulation.”

“If I were to kill you and throw your body in the lake, do you think anyone would notice you were missing?”

“You’d miss me,” Malfoy said.

She was a little surprised to realize that he was right, not that she had any intention of letting on.

“Name one whole thing I like about you,” Hermione said. “I dare you.”

“I bring you chocolate cake on a regular basis,” Malfoy said. He picked up her coat and held it open for her. “And the students are actually learning potions.”

“Those are incidental,” Hermione said, sliding into her coat. He cast a spell that did up her buttons before she could bother. “I wouldn’t exactly call chocolate cake proof of character.”

“You think I’m funny,” Malfoy said. “And you like the part where I know some magic you don’t. Also, you said last week that you thought I was nice, which is most assuredly a character trait.”

“I didn’t say –“ Hermione said, then looked at him. “Actually, would you even have taken the compliment if I’d said it?”

“I’d tell you that you were delusional, because Malfoys aren’t nice,” he said. “Stick to the excellent sense of humor, Granger.”

“I don’t know, I might like uncharted territory better,” she said. She could see him looking at her in the moonlight.

“Don’t get carried away with that,” he said. “It won’t lead anywhere good.”

“Maybe you ought to stop thinking about what Malfoys are,” she said, “and start thinking about what you are.”

“I _am_ a Malfoy,” he said.

“I know how much work went into that,” she said, gesturing at the lake. “You did that to make potions that help other people. Hard work without any benefit to yourself isn’t a particularly Malfoy thing to do.”

“I can publish on it,” Malfoy said.

She laughed. “How many people do you think read advanced potions journals?”

“You do,” Malfoy said. “I assume some other people who matter do as well.”

“There are probably better routes to fame and fortune,” Hermione said.

“We should get back,” Malfoy said. “It’s getting late.”

“It was already late when you dragged me out here,” Hermione said. “On the other hand, I don’t have any classes to teach in the morning.”

“Who needs sleep?” Malfoy said, amused.

“Hopefully not you,” Hermione said. “Come on, before we freeze to death.”

“Maybe if we practice your warming charms,” Malfoy said. “There’s still hope, Granger.”

“Die in a fire,” she said.

“I’m fairly confident that went out of fashion in, oh, I don’t know, Salem,” Malfoy said.

Malfoy kept coming around, until she was so used to him that it felt strange to be in her office alone on the nights that he was off working with Neville or helping students particularly late. He was infuriating and stubborn and fond of baiting her, but he could debate magical theory for hours. And he was strangely thoughtful. He oiled her squeaking door and started fires if he got to her office first and somehow always knew how she took her tea, no matter how many times she changed her mind about the right amount of sugar for Darjeeling. She gave up on him pulling her chair out at dinner and he actually borrowed a few muggle books, although she wasn’t entirely convinced he’d read them.

And when one of her favorite mornings of the year rolled around, Hermione found she actually wanted to spend it with him.

He wasn’t in the potions dungeon – which wasn’t a surprise, considering how early it was and the fact that it was Saturday – so she actually went to his rooms; she vaguely wondered why they didn’t spend any time there, although it wasn’t really as if they spent time in her rooms either. Malfoy was just always walking her back at night.

“He’s sleeping,” his portrait, a rather temperamental sphinx, informed her.

“Well, wake him up, then,” Hermione said. It wasn’t so early that she felt guilty about it.

“He’s not going to like that,” the sphinx said, but she’d disappeared inside.

“What’s wrong?” Malfoy said, a few minutes later, sticking his head out of the frame. 

His hair was a disaster, and he was wearing a Montrose Magpies shirt with holes at the collar. Hermione did her best not to smile.

“The lake froze over,” she said. “By the way, you look a little like Harry.”

“What?” Draco said. He was blinking at her. “Did you come all the way down here at seven in the morning to insult me?”

“It’s eight-thirty,” she said. “The lake froze over. Or, well, at least the part that matters, anyway.”

“My rainforest is perfectly fine, we already thought of that,” Malfoy informed her. “Can I go back to bed?”

“No, we’re going ice skating,” she said. “Get dressed.”

“We’re doing what?” Malfoy said. He looked extremely skeptical.

“Ice skating,” she said, patiently. He seemed to finally notice her gloves and scarf.

“What’s that?” he said. “Do I have to go outside?”

Hermione blinked, then realized that it had only really caught on at Hogwarts after the war. Some of the muggleborns had brought skates, and then everyone had wanted to learn. The older students renewed the barrier spells every year so that no one went where the ice was too thin, but the edges of the lake never froze enough until November or December. It was early this year.

“You’ll see,” Hermione said. “Just get dressed. And wear decent boots, I’ll transfigure them for you.”

“You’re insane,” Malfoy said.

“It’ll be fun,” she said. “Trust me.”

“Oh, all right,” Malfoy finally said. “Give me five minutes to get dressed.”

It was more like fifteen, and Malfoy’s portrait glared at her the entire time. He finally stepped out. “I just want you to know, there are approximately four reasonable things to do before breakfast, and this isn’t one of them,” he said.

“Just out of curiosity,” she said. “What are we considering reasonable?”

“Sleeping, sex, checking on potions, and walking to breakfast,” Malfoy said. “Have I mentioned how we’re not doing any of those things? The last one might be a sticking point.”

“So you’ll wake up for work, but not for anything fun?” Hermione said, laughing.

“Three of those things are fun,” Malfoy protested. “Well, all right, walking to breakfast is neutral, but you can think about coffee. That’s fun. And I like potions.” He very clearly wasn’t entirely awake yet.

“Quit complaining,” she said. There were already plenty of students out on the lake.

“What are they doing?” Malfoy said. He sounded a little horrified. “Why are they doing it?”

“Ice skating,” Hermione said. “And it’s fun. At least as fun as walking to breakfast.”

“It looks dangerous,” Malfoy said. “What if they fall in?” One of the first years definitely hadn’t been before, and she tumbled to the ice, although she still looked delighted.

“You play _Quidditch_ ,” Hermione said. “At least this doesn’t involve heights or falling off brooms.” She held up a thermos. “I brought coffee. You can have some if you agree to go out on the ice.”

“That’s blackmail,” Malfoy said. He yawned. “Or bribery. Something illegal.”

“Practically an Unforgiveable,” Hermione agreed. “I’d better be careful or they’re going to send me to Azkaban.”

“You’re lucky I tolerate your muggle nonsense,” Draco said, but he’d held out a hand. “Give me that.” He was looking at the students, and his eyes narrowed. “Those are perfectly respectable Slytherins. What did you do to them?”

“Blackmail and bribery,” Hermione said, transfiguring her boots into skates and redoing the laces. “Drink that. I’ll come back for you.”

“If you leave me here, I make absolutely no promises about not going back to bed,” Malfoy said.

She grinned. “You won’t,” she said, stepping out onto the ice and pushing off. “Now you’re curious.”

“I can’t possibly get any research done if you die,” Malfoy said. “Try not to fall into the lake or crash or – whatever other hazards this terrible activity has.”

“I’ll do my best,” Hermione said.

She skated out near the edge of the ice, though she was still nowhere near the boundary spells. She’d never really liked flying, but she had to admit that skating made her understand Harry’s obsession with speed. Hermione waved to Malfoy, who lifted a hand grudgingly. She wove her way around some of the older students who were skating further out.

“Dr. Granger!” someone called. It was Lena, who darted out of a group of girls. She held out her hands in invitation. “Come back in!”

Hermione turned around and skated toward her, slowing down as she grabbed Lena’s hands, pulling them into a spin with her momentum. She’d spent most of last year skating with the students, since Neville was utterly hopeless.

“Morning,” Hermione said, grinning.

“Girls,” Peter said, sounding disgusted. He looked about as awake as Malfoy.

“What about us?” Anna Bainbridge said. She was a sixth year Gryffindor.

“Nothing,” Peter said, quickly. Anna was infamous for her hexes.

“You didn’t have to come,” Emily Whitlock said. “All the other boys slept in.”

“Lena didn’t sit on all the rest of them and whack them with a pillow until they woke up,” Peter grumbled. “By the way, how is it that girls can get into our rooms but we can’t get into theirs, anyway? The castle turns us upside down if we want to go down their hall, but Lena can come savage me any time she wants.”

“Oh, darling, you know all you have to do is ask,” Lena murmured. She’d pitched her voice low and a little sultry, but she looked as if she was trying not to laugh. 

“Not what I meant,” Peter protested, but everyone was already laughing. His cheeks went red.

“It’s good for you,” Hermione said. Lena’s pursuit of Peter and Peter’s complete oblivion were getting ridiculous. “Pillow fights build character.”

“It’s hardly a pillow fight if she pins me –“ Peter started, then thought better of it. “Brought Professor Malfoy, did you? Why isn’t he out here?”

“Something about coffee and the injustice of denying him breakfast,” Hermione said. “Apparently I’m very mean.”

“See?” Peter said. “Professor Malfoy agrees with me. Who wants to come out in the cold before breakfast? Girls are insane.”

“Shut up, Peter,” Emily said. “Otherwise Lena really is going to beat you to death with a pillow.”

“I’m going to see if Lucas brought tea or cocoa or literally anything that’s going to save me from you lot,” Peter muttered, then took off.

“Maybe he brought extra,” Anna said, speculatively. “Want to go find out?”

“Guess we’re going over there,” Lena said. “Have fun with Professor Malfoy.”

“I’ll do my best,” Hermione said. She waved goodbye, then sped toward Malfoy. He jumped back when she pulled a fast stop and sprayed him with ice, then made a face when she grinned.

“Was that entirely necessary?” he said.

“I don’t know, are you still sulking about breakfast?” Hermione said.

“The coffee helped,” Malfoy said. “Marginally.”

“So come out here,” Hermione said.

“No, thank you,” Malfoy said.

“What, are you scared?” Hermione said, grinning. “I bet you are. The students are all going to gossip about it at breakfast.”

“That’s not going to work,” he said, then paused. “Damn it, it might.”

“Come here,” Hermione said, taking one of his hands. She transfigured his boots and put a stabilizing spell on him for good measure.

“I really don’t think –“ he said, but she’d already pulled him out onto the ice.

“It’s not that bad,” she said. “You just push off.”

“This is your idea of fun?” Malfoy said. “I take it back. My teenage views on muggleborns were correct.”

Hermione laughed, letting him go and skating backwards. “Are you really joking about that?”

“You thought it was funny,” he said.

“It’s like riding a broomstick only you can’t fall hundreds of meters to your death,” Hermione said. “Try it like that.”

“Yes, but in that scenario, you have a broom that actually responds,” Malfoy said, but he’d tentatively pushed off. “Is this some sort of sadistic muggle torture?”

“You’ve effectively got on training wheels,” Hermione said, dryly. “You can’t even fall.”

“What the hell is a training –“ Malfoy said, then lost his balance. The spell righted him again.

“You know, on bicycles,” Hermione said.

“Allow me to modify that: what the hell is a bicycle?” Malfoy said. He pushed off again, looking slightly less traumatized. “Granger, are you literally skating circles around me?”

“Maybe,” she said. “I’ll get cold if I slow down.”

“Or we could both just go back inside,” he said. “Then no one has to be cold.”

“Nice job, Professor!” one of the fourth year Hufflepuffs said, skating past them at a speed even Hermione considered excessive.

“I just want you to know, being judged by fourteen-year olds is absolutely the highlight of my weekend,” Malfoy said. “I’m indescribably happy at the moment.”

“Oh, shut it, they’ll like you more for trying,” Hermione said. “Besides, no one knows that you can’t fall over, they just think you’re a quick study.”

“Hmm, cheating,” Malfoy said, thoughtfully. “All right, that’s a vaguely Slytherin approach, I’ll take it.”

“You can go faster,” Hermione said.

“I’m declining that offer,” Malfoy said. “Exactly how long does it take to get proficient at this?”

“I don’t know, I learned when I was a kid,” Hermione said. “But the first years are always pretty good by the end of winter.”

“Are you going to drag me out here more than once?” Malfoy said. He looked dubious.

“It’s good for you,” Hermione said. “You should have to do things you’re not good at. It’ll keep your ego from taking over the castle.”

“I have yet to see you try a single thing you’re bad at,” Draco said. “You have to take your own advice.”

“Herbology?” Hermione said. “I’m not great at Herbology.”

“Says the witch with an enormous garden outside of her rooms,” Malfoy said. He’d picked up speed again. “And who uses plants all the time in potions.”

“Quidditch,” Hermione said. “I am utterly abysmal at Quidditch.”

“Great, we can play tomorrow,” Malfoy said. “I promise not to let you fall.”

“There’s a difference,” Hermione said. “You can eventually get good at this. There’s practically no chance of me ever getting good at Quidditch.”

“I feel like practically might be overestimating those odds,” Malfoy said.

“Ouch,” Hermione said, amused. “I’m going to take the spell off if you don’t watch it.”

“I think the coffee is wearing off,” Malfoy said. “I feel faint. We should go get breakfast.”

“Want to do something fun?” Hermione said.

“It’s before breakfast,” Malfoy said. “You’ve heard my list, nothing involving ice sports is on it.”

“Consider it a faster way of walking to breakfast with a detour,” Hermione suggested. “Grab my hands.”

“I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“The first years do,” Hermione said, grinning.

“Thus indicating that this is a terrible plan,” Draco said. “What are you doing?”

“Showing you the benefits of being able to go fast,” Hermione said. She was fairly good at skating backwards, and it wasn’t exactly hard to pull Malfoy along with her since he was on skates.

“What –“ he said.

“Relax and think about coffee,” Hermione said.

She skated around the entire curve of the ice, going faster when they got further out. Malfoy had looked distinctly unhappy at the start, but by the time she started to stop on the far side, he was laughing.

“All right, I see the –“ he said, breathless, then ran into her. She’d forgotten that he didn’t really know how to stop.

“Oops,” she said, catching him. There was a moment where she thought he might pull her over, but they mostly ended up tangled together.

“See the appeal,” he finished. It was a little strange to be up against Malfoy, but he looked so pleased she didn’t really mind.

“Oh, look, you were wrong about something,” Hermione said, righting herself to put some space between them. “I think you might owe me lunch later.”

“Sold,” Malfoy said. “But that comes after breakfast. And checking on my potions.”

“I might be hungry owing to the fact that I’ve been doing all the work,” she said. “Are we walking through the snow or skating back to the close edge? Up to you.”

“You’re skating back,” Malfoy said. “I want to do that again.”

“I’m going to have to slow down to avoid running over everyone,” Hermione said.

“Go back the way we came,” Draco suggested. “Then you can slow down for the short leg.”

“Only if you ask me nicely,” Hermione said.

“I want to do that again, please,” Malfoy said.

“Very good, there may be hope for you yet,” Hermione said, with a smile, and took his hands again.


	2. Chapter 2

A week later, Hermione woke up to someone pounding her portrait frame so hard the inner portrait fell down the wall with a clatter. Her lamia was nowhere to be seen. It was the dim grey dark before dawn, and when she pulled her dressing gown on and flung open the portrait, she caught Malfoy with his fist raised. He looked utterly destroyed.

“Hermione,” he said, and he sounded _broken_.

“Oh, god,” she said.

“It’s Thomas,” he said. She saw darkness in the torchlight of the hallway and realized that his hands and robes were covered in blood. “We need you for Rory.”

“Rory?” she said, then realized what he meant – what it had to mean.

“He found him,” Malfoy said. “McGonagall’s there. But he needs you.”

Hermione fought down her rising horror. Malfoy was already halfway down the hall, walking so fast he was nearly running. “What happened?” she said. “It’s so early.” Too early, presumably, for dueling or spells gone horribly awry.

“I’ve never seen anything –“ he said. “A cursed object, maybe. Sometimes they’ve got a time delay.” She followed him down a second corridor and down a spiral set of stairs; the portrait into the Slytherin common room didn’t even bother to ask for a password.

“Hermione,” he said again, reaching to grab her wrist. He met her eyes. “There’s a lot of blood.”

“It’s all right,” she said, evenly. “I’ve probably seen worse.”

“I’m not all that sure of that,” Malfoy said.

There was a small group of boys in the hallway; Hermione realized it had to be the rest of the sixth years.

“The headmistress is in there,” one said. It was nearly dark, but she thought it was Bastian Walsh. “And Peter. With – with Rory.” His voice was shaking.

“Okay,” Hermione said. “Professor Malfoy and I are going to go in. Go to my office and start a fire. I need someone to see to Crookshanks. Would you, please?”

“We – yes,” someone else said.

“Thank you,” she said. Malfoy opened the door just enough to let her through, pushing in after her.

“Hermione,” McGonagall said. “Thank god.”

Malfoy had been right. There was a lot of blood. Blood on the floor, blood on the doorknob, blood all over the curtains, and mostly blood all over Thomas’s bed. Thomas was pure white in the midst of all the darkness. He almost looked as if he was sleeping, but she knew better. She also knew why Malfoy had said there was something strange about it. There wasn’t a mark on him.

“Oh, god,” she said, again, pressing a hand against her mouth. Rory was making a noise she hadn’t heard since the war, although it was still utterly and terribly familiar. Grief hadn’t changed in the last decade.

“Rory,” Peter was saying, his voice shaking. He had his arms locked around him. “We need to get you out of here.” He’d always been the level-headed one.

Hermione took a step toward Rory.

“Rory,” she said, quietly, holding out her hands. “It’s not all right, but I’m here with you.”

“Hermione,” Rory said. He was sobbing. “I came back – I only wanted a glass of water, and I heard –“

“I know,” Hermione said. She didn’t, really, but she knew how she’d felt when it was Harry.

“I went back to bed,” Rory said. “I went back to bed and maybe if – if I’d just –“

“This wasn’t your fault,” Hermione said.

“I just heard him –“ Rory said. “I heard him and it didn’t sound right and if I’d just –“ He tried to get out of Peter’s grip. “If I’d just checked when I came back, Hermione –“

“Rory,” she said, gently. “I don’t think it would have made a difference.”

“Of course it bloody well would have, I heard him stop breathing,” Rory said. “This is my fault, I should have –“

“Wait,” Hermione said. Her heart turned over. What Malfoy had said – “Rory, how long has it been?”

“What?” he said. He was staring at her with utterly hollow eyes.

“Since you found him, Rory, how _long has it been_?”

“Ten or fifteen minutes,” Peter said. “Bastian got Professor Malfoy and Professor Malfoy got the headmistress. And you.”

“I checked, Hermione,” Malfoy said, quietly. “He wasn’t breathing when I got here.”

“Cursed objects –“ she said, trying to remember. She’d never forgotten anything when it was important, she reminded herself. Now wasn’t a good time to start. “Exsanguination, how do you – it’s not a spell.” She froze. “It can’t have been a spell.”

“No,” Malfoy said, staring at her. He looked as if he thought she’d lost her mind. “There wasn’t anyone else’s magic. I checked that too.”

“Just a minute,” Hermione said. She had to think of something. “I need a legilimens and Bill Weasley.”

“What?” Malfoy said. “Hermione –“

“I need –“ she said, taking a step towards the bed, running through options in her head. There weren’t any good ones.

“Rory,” Peter said, suddenly. “Rory is. He had lessons third year.”

Hermione turned fast. “Let go, Peter,” she said.

“Hermione –“ McGonagall said. “I know this is a terrible situation, but we need to focus on the children in front of us.“

“You have to let me do my job,” she said, looking at Malfoy. “Trust me to do my job.”

He let out a breath. She hadn’t realized he’d been holding it. “I do.”

“Look, Rory,” she said. “We’ve got maybe five minutes at the outside here. You’re going to answer a question, and then I need everyone to listen to me in a hurry. Can you see Thomas’s magic? Not with your eyes.”

“Oh,” he said. His eyes closed. “No. There isn’t anything.”

It had been a long time – a full fifteen minutes, maybe twenty if Peter hadn’t counted correctly.

“In that case, I don’t think there’s anything we can do,” she said, closing her eyes. She tried not to let the tidal wave of grief pull her under and very nearly failed. 

“Wait,” Rory said. He grabbed Peter’s wrist. “I can – you can just see, he’s always been blue. It’s not very much.” He opened his eyes. “What does that mean?”

“That I’m about to do something very stupid,” she said. She looked at Malfoy again. “I don’t know if this is going to work, but if it does, no one in this room is going to have enough magic left to light a candle.”

“You can’t be serious,” Malfoy said, slowly. “That’s theory.”

“It’s been done. It’s just very old, very dark magic,” Hermione said. “And I haven’t got time to argue about it. It’s nearly been too long already.”

“I trust you,” Malfoy said, after a few seconds that felt like an eternity.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” McGonagall said, sharply.

“He’s not really dead in the technical sense,” she said. “Not yet, anyway. I’m going to cast _strigare_ backwards.”

“That’s very nearly an Unforgiveable,” McGonagall said.

“Not in reverse,” Hermione said.

“Can that even be done?” McGonagall said.

“There’s a reference in the Daemonologie,” Hermione said. “I think so.”

“ _Hermione_ ,” Rory said. “Whatever you’re thinking of doing, you’d better hurry.”

“Please,” Hermione said, meeting McGonagall’s eyes.

“If we must, and I suppose we must,” McGonagall said. Hermione remembered what she’d looked like on the battlefield. McGonagall was every bit as formidable as Dumbledore had been – and perhaps, in some ways, she was fiercer. “But leave the children out of it.”

“No,” Rory said. “ _No_ , you have to let me try.”

“Rory doesn’t go anywhere I don’t go,” Peter said. “If it’s him, it’s both of us.”

“If it had been Harry, I’d have killed you if you’d tried to keep me from helping him. And I need Rory,” Hermione said. “Frankly, we need Peter too.” She looked at Malfoy. “We’ll leave you out. If the rest of us aren’t enough, nothing’s going to be enough, and I’m going to need every potion you have and then some. Henbane, wine of mandrake, a suspensions of nahcolite –“

“Trust me to do my job,” Malfoy said, quietly.

“I’m going to keep him cold,” Hermione said. “Run. But I need you to wait until we’re sure the spell works.” She paused. “If I can’t manage, you’re the only other person here who knows how to do it. But Bill can’t be here for at least six hours, so you’re the only cursebreaker in the castle.”

“So we really can’t use me,” Malfoy said. He crossed the room to tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Don’t get yourself killed. I’ll be very unhappy.”

Hermione smiled. “I’ll do my best,” she said. “Rory, I’m going to explain about a year of magical theory to you in thirty seconds.”

“Okay,” Rory said. “A fast thirty seconds. It’s still there, but not by much.”

“The Killing Curse works by separating you from your magic,” Hermione said. “It’s like a knife. Witches and wizards can’t live without magic, so they die instantly. But curses don’t work like that. They’re horrible, but they don’t remove your magic in the same way. Some of them even bind your magic to you. I think this one did. So Thomas still has his. Witches and wizards don’t die when their heart stops beating, they die when their magic’s gone. I can repair the damage from him going without oxygen.”

“Okay,” Rory said. “So he’s still alive as long as there’s magic.”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “I need you to understand that I’m about to cast a very difficult, theoretical spell. You’re going to do some very difficult legilimancy. Malfoy’s going to try to break the curse, and then I’m going to try to get his heart started again. This is a… phenomenal long shot. But I have to try.”

“I have to try too,” Rory said. He’d pulled himself together and was looking very determined. “Just tell me what to do.”

“There’s a really horrible family of spells called _striga_ , they’re called vampire spells. You take magic from someone. If you take enough, over time, you’ll kill them. I’m going to… cast it backwards to put our magic into Thomas. But I’m not good enough at manipulating magic to make the link so I can take it from the rest of us. I need you to do that.”

“I don’t know how,” Rory said.

“Look at us using magic,” Hermione said. “You’re going to have to feel it out, but it ought to work like rope. Tie some of McGonagall’s magic to me, then Peter’s, then yours. I need you to tell me if it’s working. In theory, our magic ought to turn into Peter’s.”

“When you’re ready,” she said. She cast a chilling spell; there was a better chance of getting his body working again if Thomas stayed cold, and it wouldn’t matter for the magic.

“It’s not like rope,” he said. “More like a siphon, like we use in Potions sometimes. I can – I think, if I just…”

McGonagall’s magic slammed into her like a wave – so different than her own, the sort of magic that had felt forged in fire. It was a blade, and McGonagall obviously fully intended to use it. Peter’s was easier, somehow, a better match for her own. Rory’s was mostly just determination.

“That’s all of us,” he said. “I can’t get it all at once, but I’ll keep pouring it into you.”

“That’s how we want it,” Hermione said. She took a deep breath, looking at Peter. She couldn’t see anything, but she’d built an entire life on working with what she had and trying hopeless things.

“ _Strigareretro_ ,” she said.

She could tell even without Rory that it was working. It didn’t seem fast – her wand was serving as a channel, and there was only so much it could handle. But it was, most decidedly, working.

“You’re glowing,” Malfoy said, and she found she could look at him. The magic didn’t need her attention.

“Well?” she said. He was covered in magic, twining around him like vines, and his eyes were a bright, sharp green.

“I can’t tell what’s happening,” he said.

“Run,” she said.

After that, it felt like the world was spinning in fast forward. It was almost too much, especially since the spell hadn’t been designed to draw on more than one person, but there was just enough going into Thomas to keep it from breaking her to pieces. But it was a tremendous amount of raw power, and Hermione could feel herself lift off the floor, body arching like a bow. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the fireplace, and Malfoy had been right – she looked as if she was burning up from the inside out, her eyes glowing orange.

“Hermione?” Rory said.

“I can see why this is extraordinarily illegal,” Hermione said, absently. She had a feeling the withdrawal was going to be horrible.

“Does that mean stop?” Rory said.

“No,” she said. “Keep going until Malfoy gets back or none of us have anything left.”

“Right,” said Rory.

“Is it –“ Peter was staring at her. “I can see what’s happening to you, is it doing what it’s supposed to?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “But this isn’t all of it. Malfoy is going to have to break the curse or anything we do to try to get him breathing again is going to be pointless, and without it, he’s going to lose magic so quickly we may not be able to get him back before it’s gone.”

“He’s got a lot,” Rory said, after a moment. “More than a regular person already.”

“He’ll have four people’s worth of magic by the time we’re done,” Hermione said. “It’s going to buy us time.”

“How do I know when to stop?” Rory said.

“It’s self-limiting,” McGongall said. “You won’t be able to take more once it’s gone. I expect you’ll both run out before I do.”

“You have to hold a little back,” Hermione said. “Just enough to keep giving me hers.”

“Right,” Rory said.

It didn’t feel like long, but Malfoy shoved his way back through the door, then stared.

“You’re about a meter off the floor,” he said.

“I’m out,” Peter said.

“Mostly here too,” Rory said. “The headmistress still has some. Do I –“ He looked at Malfoy. “Should I take his magic too?”

“No,” Hermione said. “We’re going to need it.” She felt giddy, even though nearly other emotion would have been more appropriate given the situation. “I feel like I’m swimming.”

“You’re running this show,” Malfoy said, mildly. “So you’d better have a plan.”

“You’re breaking the curse,” Hermione said. “Then we’re going to work like hell to get his heart started again.” She considered, trying not to laugh. It really wasn’t funny. “You might have to catch me first.”

“Oh, curse-breaking,” Malfoy muttered. “Because that’s so profoundly in my wheelhouse.”

“We don’t have any other options,” Hermione said. “Make it work.”

“The headmistress is almost out too,” Rory said.

Hermione could tell the flow of magic was slowing down. “You’ve got some time,” she said. “We won’t once you break it.”

Malfoy was already by the bed. “Well, that’s horrifying,” he said. “I’ve never see a curse like this.”

“Can you get it?” Hermione said. “I can’t hold this until Bill gets here, even if we could find more people.”

“Professor Malfoy,” Rory warned.

“Damn,” Hermione said. Malfoy got her with a levitation spell just before she hit the ground, but she still hit hard.

She felt cold and almost naked, suddenly swinging from invincible to completely vulnerable. But potions didn’t require her magic, only Thomas’s. She laid things out on his bedside table, where they’d both be able to reach everything. Malfoy had found a few old glass syringes – she supposed that with no swallow reflex, they weren’t exactly going to be able to pour anything down his throat.

“I know how to remove it,” Malfoy said, finally. “How fast are we going to have to move here?”

“Ready to finish one another’s sentences?” Hermione said, lightly.

“Right,” Malfoy said, and she drew a syringe of nacholite solution and another of dragon’s blood, stepping around Malfoy to climb onto the bed.

“Warm him up just a little,” she said, looking over her shoulder for a moment at Rory and Peter. “This is going to be pretty bad, so if you want to go, now’s the time.”

“Worse than that?” Rory said, gesturing to the blood she was currently getting covered in. “We’re staying.”

“Point taken,” Hermione. “But keep clear.”

“Ready?” Draco said. He uncapped a vial, drawing it into the last syringe.

“God, I hope so,” Hermione said, low enough for only him to hear.

“Straight into the heart,” Malfoy said. “We’re going to have to do it simultaneously.”

“Oh, lovely,” Hermione said, but she took the syringe from him, feeling to find a point where she wouldn’t hit a rib or the sternum. 

“ _Conminuo_ ,” Malfoy said, sharply, and she hit the plunger hard.

“Done,” he said.

It was strange doing anything without magic. “I’m not going to be able to find anything that used to be part of his circulatory system, I don’t have a spell and there isn’t enough blood,” she said, quickly, passing over the syringe of dragon’s blood over to Malfoy.

“Right,” he said, using magic to guide it in to a point in Thomas’s neck. “ _Diffusio_.”

Hermione passed over the next syringe, then redrew another of wine of mandrake. She injected it into the muscle of his arm, and Malfoy threw a handful of powdered hensbane at him with a spell she didn’t recognize. She felt Thomas starting to warm under her hands; Malfoy had cast a spell to start bringing up his temperature.

“More, I think,” Malfoy said, and she handed over another syringe of dragon’s blood.

It was easy to fall into a rhythm, and every time she held out a hand, Malfoy somehow knew exactly what to hand her. Hermione knew time was passing and that it was, objectively, a bad thing, but she could tell from the look on Malfoy’s face that something wasn’t quite working.

“Guayusa,” she said. “Then –“

“Oh, that,” Malfoy said. He drew another syringe of pale gold liquid.

“I don’t know this spell,” he said, looking at her. He was even more covered in blood than he’d been to start.

“Fulgario,” she said. “Probably with a limiting spell at the heart first.”

“Right,” Malfoy said, casting in quick succession.

“Damn,” Hermione said. She had a hand on his chest. “Try fulgario maxima.” Malfoy cast again.

“Come on,” she said. “Come on, come on.” She closed her eyes, remembering every damn resuscitation she’d been in on at Mungo’s.

“Hold on,” Malfoy said. “Have you got any magic left at all?”

“No,” Hermione said. “Neither has anyone else.”

“I think we need oxygen to spark it,” he said. “But I’ve got no idea how to do it, I can’t cast two spells at once.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. “I think I know how.” She tilted Thomas’s chin up. “I’m going to breathe for him. It’s how muggles do it. I took a class once.”

“You would have,” Malfoy said. He’d managed a smile.

It had been years, but she remembered the basic principle. She heard Malfoy cast once, then again, then something else. After a moment, he stepped back.

“You can stop,” he said.

She took a breath. “No,” she said. “We have to keep trying. Something else.”

“You can stop because his heart’s beating,” Malfoy said.

Hermione realized that when she’d pulled back, Thomas had taken a very, very shallow breath. Malfoy quickly cast the spell he’d wanted to use before, and then he really was breathing, although the magic was mostly doing it for him.

“Fuck,” she said, staring at Malfoy, and promptly blacked out.

She woke up abruptly in the infirmary – it looked like late afternoon from the weak sunlight streaming in through the windows. Malfoy was bent over another bed.

“Is that –“ she said. Her throat felt like she’d swallowed glass.

Malfoy turned around fast, as if she’d startled him.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he said.

“Sorry,” she managed. “I didn’t mean to make you jump –“

“Not that,” Malfoy said. He came over to her bed. “I thought you’d died.”

“Oh, please,” Hermione said. “Not likely. Is he all right? Where are the others?”

“I dosed them all with a sleeping potion and locked them in my office,” Malfoy said. “Do you know the portraits can’t even see them?”

“But Thomas?” she said, hoarsely.

“A mess,” Malfoy said. “About as much as you’d expect given that he technically died and then got dosed with a hippogriff’s worth of cardiac potions. But he’ll live.”

“I need to –“ Hermione started, trying to get up.

“Oh, definitely not,” Malfoy said, leaning in to pin her to the bed with his hands on his shoulders. “Bill and some goblins and backup from Mungo’s are on the train, they’ll be here in an hour. The Ryans are with them. I can handle everything until then.”

“But –“ she said.

“You don’t actually have any magic,” he said, looking amused. “Don’t make me tie you to the bed. You might enjoy it, and then where would we be?”

“ _Malfoy_ ,” she said, but she was laughing. It hurt.

“He’ll be fine,” Malfoy said. “I did a magical antigen test on the other students, there were plenty of matches and everyone wanted to donate. He’s got a decent amount of blood now. And I put him all the way under, I think it’s for the best if he’s not wasting any energy on breathing.”

Hermione suddenly realized he looked exhausted; he’d changed robes, but he obviously hadn’t taken a shower. He’d gone to the table to pour her a cup of tea, and he came back to hand it to her. It burned when it went down, but then her throat felt better. She suspected there had been whiskey in it.

“I didn’t ask,” Hermione said. “But do we have any idea what happened?”

“None,” Malfoy said. “Neville and Professor Flitwick have all the students on the Quidditch pitch until Bill can start clearing the castle.” A corner of his mouth pulled up. “Apparently they’re enjoying themselves. Hannah set up an enormous tent.”

“At least someone is,” Hermione said. She coughed, which also hurt.

“I’ve never seen someone do anything so stupid,” Malfoy said, but he was looking at Thomas’s bed. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“I’ve really never had the luxury,” Hermione said, finally. “I grew up with Harry.”

“I’m not sure I understood Gryffindor courage before I met you,” Malfoy said. “It’s not really about swords.”

“Sometimes it’s about swords,” she said, lightly; Malfoy being so serious was scaring her. “Neville would probably tell you it’s about swords.”

“A Gryffindor killing a giant snake with a sword?” Malfoy said, with a half-smile. “That’s a metaphor if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Speaking of Neville,” she said. “He could probably keep an eye on things if you wanted to… take a bath before everyone gets here.”

“Trust me, the two of you look worse,” Malfoy said. “And I’ve already traumatized all the students, I had to carry you upstairs through the common room and up the main staircase.”

“What is it with you and carrying around unconscious women?” Hermione said. “Leviosa. Try it sometime.”

“I’m so sorry you don’t approve of my methods,” Malfoy said, then smiled ruefully. “Actually, I don’t really approve of my own methods, I got you all the way up here before I realized that you were perfectly fine, just unconscious.”

“Hopeless,” Hermione murmured, but she reached for Malfoy’s hand. “I’m glad – I couldn’t have done that alone.”

“You’d probably have found a way somehow,” Malfoy said, but he was looking at her. “Though I suppose I might need to concede that we make an all right team when bringing people back from death. Maybe we should take up necromancy over the holidays.”

“Quit making me laugh,” Hermione said. He was still holding her hand, and she realized they were both dancing around anything serious, as if it might take them somewhere they weren’t entirely ready to go. They weren’t friends, exactly, but she supposed that by now they had to be something. But that was Malfoy, really – she could never tell if he was afraid of serious things or just unwilling to let his guard down.

“It’s good for you,” Malfoy said. “And so is sleep.”

“I can’t leave you to handle all this alone,” she said.

He let her go, pulling a vial of a rather purple potion out of his pocket.

“Oh, no,” she said. “I’m not taking that.”

“The other option is to ignore me and to be suspicious of every cup of tea for the next few days,” he said. “Your call.”

“You wouldn’t,” she said.

“Oh, all right, I’m too big on consent for potions,” Malfoy said. “But I’d pour it in your tea in front of you and ruin it.”

“You’re terrible,” Hermione said. She realized, though, there were quite a few other professors, and she still didn’t have even the faintest bit of magic. She didn’t even have the energy to worry about it, although she was fairly certain that no one had ever run into trouble after being drained once. But then again, it seemed unlikely anyone had ever tried being a conduit before.

“Terrible and right,” Malfoy said.

She made a face, but she took the vial and swallowed the contents. “Happy?”

“Exquisitely so,” Malfoy said. “Get some sleep.”

She could already feel it tugging her under, which was probably a sign that Malfoy had been right. He was watching her as her eyes started to close.

“And Hermione?” he said.

“Yes?” she managed.

“You should probably start calling me Draco,” he said.

When she woke up again, it was because someone had thrown a particularly heavy sack of bricks at her – or, she realized, a teenage boy.

“One rule,” Malfoy said. “One rule, Locke, what was it?”

“That I couldn’t wake her up,” Rory said. “I don’t care.”

“Hi,” Hermione said, still feeling a little groggy.

“Hermione,” Rory said. He was suddenly crying. “I thought – we all thought –“

“Shh, it’s all right,” she murmured.

“He said you were okay,” Rory said. “But I didn’t think he’d tell me if you weren’t.”

“I’m not that good an actor,” Malfoy said. “You’d have known.”

“I’m fine,” Hermione said. “I still don’t think I have any magic, but I’m all right.”

“You do so,” Rory said. “I can see it. I mean, not much, but it’s not like I’ve got much so far either. Professor Malfoy says it’ll probably be a week.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, suddenly incredibly relieved.

“Yes, some of us had to spend a very frantic half hour doing research on obscure dark magic spells in the library,” Malfoy said, mildly. “Next time pick something I know more about.”

“But you’re a Malfoy,” Rory said. “Peter told me. I thought you’d just know.”

“What, about obscure dark spells?” Malfoy said. “Who exactly do you think I am?”

“Dunno, we sort of thought you were a Death Eater,” Rory said. “But Hermione said you were okay, so we figured we’d see and only off you if you did anything bad to her.”

“He’s not a –“ Hermione paused. “Well, he’s not a Death Eater these days, anyway.”

“That’s not good for much, there aren’t any of them left,” Rory said. He looked at Malfoy. “Besides, isn’t that a… for life thing? You probably still have a weird tattoo.”

Hermione looked at Malfoy. She was trying not to grin. “Actually, he might, I’ve never asked. Do you?”

“Oh my god,” Malfoy said, faintly.

“Slytherins,” Hermione said, giving in to laughter. “You lot are all such Slytherins.”

“It’s okay,” Rory said. “Peter didn’t like Harry for a while either until Hermione told him he had to.”

“Did I just get compared to Potter?” Malfoy said. “Why does this keep happening?”

“You know, you’re both kind of famous and stuff,” Rory said. “But the history books are all boring so I didn’t know until Peter said.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” Malfoy said. “Probably with detention.”

“Oh, don’t,” Rory said. “We all like you now, it’d be a shame to waste it.”

“Good to see this entire adventure hasn’t affected your irreverent attitude toward authority figures,” Hermione said, fondly.

“I can’t believe you did it,” Rory said. He looked as if he was trying not to cry again. “I can’t believe you even tried. Nobody else would’ve tried.”

“Peter, the Headmistress, and Malfoy – Draco tried,” she said, softly. “And you tried like hell. I’m proud of you.”

“For what it’s worth,” Malfoy said, “you did a remarkable thing, Rory.” He smiled. “Hermione was reaching, but so were you. Perhaps more so than any of the rest of us. She and I have been trained for that.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Rory said, looking down. “I just wanted Thomas to be okay.”

“I know,” Hermione said, kissing his forehead. “When he wakes up, you can decide how many House points we ought to give you.”

“Is he going to?” Rory said, sounding small. “Wake up, I mean?”

“Yes,” Malfoy said. He sat at the foot of her bed. “You have to understand, though, it’s going to be a while. His body went through a lot. It has to heal. We can make sure it happens, but we can’t rush it. The healers think it might be at least a month, maybe closer to two.”

“But he’ll be okay?” Rory said.

“No one’s come up with a reason he shouldn’t be,” Malfoy said.

“Want to see him?” Hermione said.

“Yes,” Rory said, then paused. “But I mean, I bet more important people want to see him, I know his mum and dad and Harry and Professor Weasley are here.”

“Wait, Harry’s here?” she said.

“I may have owled him,” Malfoy said. “I also may have suggested he leave the infirmary and go help Bill when he wouldn’t stop pacing around. I definitely didn’t threaten to duel him over the matter, though.”

“You do the same thing,” Hermione said. “Where are Thomas’s parents?”

“I sent them for some tea and food, they’ve been here all day,” Malfoy said. “I thought they’d better talk to Bill too, just in case they knew something. The mediwizard from Mungo’s went with them, he says Thomas is stable.”

“We talked to him too,” Rory said. “Professor Weasley, I mean. But we had different classes yesterday, I only saw Thomas at breakfast and dinner.” He was picking at a loose thread on her blanket. “What if I could have fixed it?”

“What if it had been both of you?” Hermione said, smoothing his hair out of his face. “Then we couldn’t have done anything. Quit second guessing yourself.”

“Come on,” Malfoy said.

“I’d like to go too,” Hermione admitted. “I might need some help, though. And if Harry finds out I’m awake and no one told him, he’s probably going to bring down the entire south wall of the castle.”

Malfoy sighed, but she was fairly certain he was feigning being put upon. “Oh, all right,” he said. He slid an arm under her shoulders. “Just behind the curtains, Rory.”

“Remind me not to do that again,” Hermione said, finally getting her feet under her. She still felt horrible.

“I think it was probably worth it,” Malfoy murmured. “At least, everyone else thinks so.”

“Don’t make me cry, Malfoy,” she said, softly.

“Quit calling me Malfoy, Granger,” he said.

“Does it actually matter?” she said, curious.

“We did just save someone’s life together,” he said. “I thought I’d lost you, and I wasn’t particularly happy with the idea that you didn’t think we were close enough friends for you to use my bloody name.”

“We’re friends?” Hermione said, a little startled.

“You’re an idiot,” Draco said. “Don’t make me offer to duel you along with Potter, you’d lose.”

“I thought you said you hadn’t,” Hermione said.

“I owled him and put up with him for three hours,” Draco said. “I should be given a commendation. It’s not really my fault it ended badly.”

When Hermione pushed the curtains aside, Rory was kneeling next to the bed, his head bent over Thomas’s side.

“He’s all right,” Hermione said, gently, going to stand by the bed. Someone had gotten rid of all the blood, and he was still pale, but at least he looked human again. She put a hand on Rory’s shoulder. “Everything’s okay.”

“Here,” Draco said, levitating a chair over. “There’s going to be hell to pay if you catch cold without any magic.”

“Okay,” Rory said, sitting as quickly as possible. He took Thomas’s hand. “He’s not so cold now. And his magic’s okay.”

“He’ll wake up,” Hermione said, stroking a hand through Rory’s hair. “Then you can tell him about all the Quidditch matches he missed.”

“When can Peter and Lena come see him?” he said. “Peter’s still sleeping, but I think he’ll want to. To make sure he’s okay, I mean. Lena’s still outside.”

“Malfoy,” she said.

“Hermione,” he said.

“I’m not calling you by your first name when you do stupid things,” she said. “Why isn’t Lena with Peter?”

“Rory and Peter can’t use magic, so they can’t get in or out portraits,” Draco said. “And they were asleep most of the day. I didn’t want Tuppington panicking on her own while no one could do anything about it.”

“So she’s just panicking in a tent instead?”

“What?” Draco said. “No, she’s with Bill and Potter. She wanted to do something to help.”

“I meant last time I checked they were still out asking people stuff,” Rory said. “Not that she was stuck in the tent.” He looked horrified. “Professor Malfoy would never do something like that.”

“It’s like you think I’m a monster or something,” Draco said, dryly. “Or maybe a Slytherin.”

“Sorry,” Hermione said. “Rory, why don’t we give you a few minutes? Peter and Lena can come up whenever they’d like, I think. Everyone else is going to have to wait a few days.”

“Okay,” Rory said. “Are you sure you should go?” He looked uncertain. “What if something happens?”

“We don’t leave patients unless there isn’t much risk of anything going wrong,” Hermione said. “The other mediwizard wouldn’t have gone unless he felt like Thomas’s parents were in worse shape than he is, honestly. It’s okay. Just take some time.”

“Can he hear me?” Rory said. “I know sometimes if someone’s in a coma or something…”

“Probably not,” Draco said, gently. “His brain needs to heal a lot more before he regains any level of consciousness. But it’ll happen.”

“I think I’ll stay anyway,” Rory said. “Maybe his magic knows or something.”

“It’s okay if you want to stay for you,” Hermione said, gently. “You’ve been through a lot today.”

“Yeah,” Rory said, suddenly sounding exhausted. “I miss him a lot already. But I’m glad it’s –“ He ran a hand over his face. “He’s not gone forever.”

“His parents will be back soon, I imagine,” Hermione said. “I think it might be good for you to be with them. Peter and Lena too.”

“I’ll go get them in a little bit,” Rory said, quietly. “I just want a couple minutes.”

“Take your time,” Hermione said.

When she refastened the curtains, Draco had paused, a hand on the foot of a nearby bed. “You know,” he said, after a moment, “I’ve never seen anyone as badly off as Rory was this morning. Not even in the war.”

“His parents are somewhat… absent,” she said, softly. “They’re not bad people, but he’s not very close with them. This is his family.”

“I never had friends like that,” Draco said, finally. “But I suppose you did.”

“I would have done anything for either of them,” Hermione said, finally. “If you’d asked me to die for Harry or Ron, I would have done it with no reservations.”

“I don’t hate my parents,” Draco said, suddenly. “Maybe I should, but I even –“ He laughed softly, almost bitterly. “I miss them sometimes. I used to go for dinner twice a month, I really can’t do that here. Although I suppose I couldn’t in Africa either.”

“I don’t think you ought to hate them,” Hermione said, although Lucius Malfoy was fairly high on her list of people that she’d consider killing on sight. “They mean something more to you than just what they did in the war. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I don’t always agree with them,” Draco said. “But you can love people without seeing eye to eye, can’t you?”

“I’m probably not the best person to talk to on the subject,” she said, wryly. “I’m not sure I could agree to disagree about whether or not I ought to be tortured and killed.”

“If I’d stood on principle, I wouldn’t have had a chance to change their minds,” Draco said, quietly. “They still think some utterly awful things, but they’ve come around some on the whole subject of muggleborns. At least – they don’t think you shouldn’t be allowed to be part of the wizarding world anymore, at least.”

“It’s something, I suppose,” Hermione said. “I know plenty of people still think awful things.” She smiled. “I just do my best to prove them wrong.”

“Well, I don’t know anyone else who could have managed what you did this morning, muggleborn or not,” he said.

“I don’t know anyone else reckless enough,” she said, laughing softly. “Maybe Harry.”

“He’s hell when he’s worried about you,” Draco said. “Maybe the rest of the time too, I wouldn’t know.”

“He’s sort of…” Hermione began. She smiled. “Well, he’s always been a lot to handle, honestly. He’s got a lot of presence and he doesn’t always use it for good. Although if anyone’s earned the right to have a bit of a temper, it’s probably Harry. And I love him.”

“You two,” Draco said, thoughtfully. “Are you…?”

“God, no,” Hermione said.

“And Weasley?” he said.

“Maybe saying that I would have done anything for him wasn’t entirely accurate,” she said. “I wasn’t willing to marry him exclusively for his benefit. I love him, but we were awful together. Even Harry thought I needed to end it.”

“So what are you these days?” Draco said.

“Friends who aren’t particularly friendly,” Hermione said. “Harry comes out here a lot, Ron’s only been a few times. Mostly last year, I think he might finally be getting over it.” She smiled. “Parvati might be helping. They’re a lot better together than we ever were.”

“His loss,” Draco said. “I think I can hold Potter off for ten minutes if you want a shower.”

“I really, really do,” Hermione said. Someone had changed her clothes and done some cleaning charms, but they really weren’t meant for handling copious amounts of blood.

“If you think you can manage on your own, I’ll get him to your office,” Draco said.

Hermione paused. “Well, there’s a bath across the hall, but I might have some problems with that.”

“If you’re still feeling that weak, you ought to stay here,” Draco said, eyes narrowing.

“More like the portrait isn’t going to be able to let me in, and I’m not sure if the taps will work for me,” Hermione said. She laughed. “This whole not having magic thing isn’t very effective.”

“Not in a magical castle, no,” Malfoy said. “Come on, I’ll let you in.”

Malfoy let her in and waited until she was sure that she could get soap; she heard the portrait swing again after she’d stepped into the shower and realized that he’d left her a change of clothes and a mug of tea on the bench. He’d left it cracked so she could get out, and after she finished – which took significantly more than ten minutes, though she really didn’t feel all that guilty about it – she toweled her hair off and went down the hall to her office.

“Hermione,” Harry said, as soon as she opened the door. He nearly knocked her over with the force of his hug.

“Ow,” she said. “I’m glad to see you too, Harry.”

“Don’t do that again,” he murmured against her hair. “I know I’m selfish for wanting to be the only person whose life you save on a regular basis, but I can’t handle it.”

“Oh, all right,” Hermione said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “No promises, though. You would have done the same thing.”

“Far less effectively,” Harry said. He bent until their foreheads were touching. “I mean it, though, I can’t live without you.”

“Come out here and be the Defense professor if you’re that desperate,” she said, grinning. “McGonagall keeps asking.”

“If you don’t get your act together, I’m going to seriously start considering it,” he murmured.

“That’s actually a rather good incentive to live dangerously,” Hermione said.

“If you’re quite finished,” Draco said, sounding irritated.

“Fuck off,” Harry said. He was still holding her close. “Haven’t you got somewhere to be? You can leave now.”

Hermione realized Bill and Neville were sitting in her arm chairs.

“Don’t start,” she said.

“Why shouldn’t I start?” he said. “You can go, Malfoy, you’re not needed.”

“I will hex you,” Hermione warned.

“You haven’t got any magic,” Harry pointed out, although he looked as if he knew he was on the wrong side of a losing argument.

“No, but I do,” Neville said. “I’ll back her. I’m warning you, Harry.”

“Since when do you take Malfoy’s side in anything?” Harry said, looking up. “You hate him.”

“I don’t, actually,” Neville said. “And since he saved the life of a student this morning, since he’s proven to be infinitely better at his job than Slughorn ever was, and since we’ve made friends.”

“Friends?” Harry said.

“He may look just like him, but he’s not Lucius Malfoy by any stretch of the imagination,” Neville said, evenly. “None of us are the people we were in school, Harry, so you’d better get over it in a hurry.”

“Sorry, my vote’s with Neville and Hermione,” Bill said. “I like Malfoy.”

“You can’t be serious,” Harry said, incredulously.

“Outvoted and outmanned, what _will_ you do, Potter?” Malfoy drawled.

“I can hex you too if you two get into a pissing contest,” Neville said. “Don’t make me regret defending you.”

“I can defend myself,” Draco said, but he sounded sort of… pleased.

“I’ll just punch you again,” Hermione said. “You can hold it against me for another few decades.”

“As long as you’re around for me to resent,” Draco said.

“We might agree on exactly one thing,” Harry muttered. He hadn’t let go. “You’re cold. Is something wrong?”

“I just got out of the shower in a drafty castle in November and I can’t cast any drying charms,” Hermione said. “I need a blanket and a cup of tea and probably something to eat, not fussing over.”

“Says you,” said Harry.

“If she strangles you with her bare hands, I’m not saving you,” Draco said.

“You were just as bad earlier, both of you stop it,” Hermione said, going to the couch. She found herself a blanket from the chest by the fireplace before she sat down. Neville looked amused.

“If you two are done showing each other up?” Bill said. Harry looked murderous, but he gave Bill a nod.

“There’s… neutral news, bad news, and worse news?” Bill said.

“It’s not great,” Harry agreed.

“We figured out Ryan’s schedule yesterday from some of the other sixth years, no one thinks he did anything funny,” Bill said. “Which makes it sort of unlikely that whatever we’ve got a problem with is off in some inaccessible corner of the castle.”

“And you think it was an object,” Hermione said.

“Without a doubt,” Bill said. “I’ve seen that curse before. You can cast it, but if it had been cast, it would have been instant. And Malfoy didn’t find any evidence of magic in the dormitory. This would have had a magical signature.”

“Damn,” Hermione said. She was tired. “The students?”

“The neutral news is that they all seem fairly happy to not be allowed to go to class,” Neville said, dryly. “Shocking, really.”

“We’ve cleared three sets of dorms,” Bill said. “Ryan didn’t go in any of them, so that was a no brainer.”

“But not the dungeons,” she said.

“No, but –“ Neville paused. “Actually, I guess there’s some funny news to go with all the bad.”

“Bet I can guess,” she said, amused. “Bet they’re bunking with the Gryffindors.”

“There are a few in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff with their brothers or sisters, but mostly, yes,” Bill said. “Don’t ask me how that happened, I haven’t the faintest.”

“They’re all pretty chuffed with Malfoy for not letting you die,” Neville said. “So apparently they decided that they were willing to turn half their common room green.”

“You know, I fainted,” Hermione said. “That’s it.”

“Don’t start with me,” Harry said.

“I’m the one who carried her up three flights of stairs,” Draco said. “Don’t start with me either, Hermione.”

“You could have just –“ Hermione started.

“Stop flirting, children,” Bill said. “We’ve got bigger problems here.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” Harry muttered, but he sighed. “Bill’s right, though.”

“We can’t just let them wander around the castle with a really nasty cursed object somewhere,” Bill said. “And we cleared the dorms fast, but even with the goblins, Harry and I can’t manage more than a bit of the castle at a time. The faculty are helping, but they’ve got students to worry about.”

“Speaking of, where’s McGonagall?” she said.

“She went back to sleep,” Neville said. “Flitwick’s acting headmaster. She said to tell you that she’s proud of you, though.”

“Why aren’t you all fussing over Draco this much?” she muttered.

“Draco? You’re calling him Draco now?” Harry said. He sounded horrified.

“I didn’t come up with the idea,” Malfoy said. “Nor did I try performing any nearly fatal spells.”

“Look,” Bill said. “My point is that I’m not sure if we ought to evacuate the castle. I don’t want a first-year tripping over a cursed object or some embedded spell.”

“Embedded spell?” Hermione said.

“You can make a cursed object out of a bit of wall or something, apparently,” Neville said. “I was so happy to hear that, let me tell you.”

“What does McGonagall think?” Hermione said.

“No idea,” Neville said. “Flitwick thinks we don’t have enough information at the moment. He said he wanted to be sure that it’s still even in the castle.”

“I highly doubt there’s a bloody cursed trowel lurking somewhere in the greenhouses and that Thomas somehow found it,” Hermione said.

“Not like that,” Harry said. “There are really cursed objects and then there are objects that have had a curse put on them.”

“I must be tired, because I’m not following,” Hermione said.

“It’s a one-time deal,” Draco said. “There’s one spell, it gets used, and then whatever it was stored in goes back to being something ordinary.”

“So we’re looking for something that might not even exist,” Hermione said.

“I think we’ve got to act as if it does,” Bill said.

“I agree,” Neville said. “It’s too much of a risk otherwise.”

“It’s going to be a bit of a slog, but the department can spare plenty of Aurors, nothing’s happening in London right now. Gringotts said they could send a few goblins too,” Harry said.

“So we can do it?” Hermione said.

“It’s just going to take a while,” Bill said. “Weeks, maybe. The Slytherins and Gryffindors will probably have killed one another by then.”

“We’ll have to make do,” Hermione said. “I think it’s going to be worse for them if we run scared. Let’s clear the dungeons.”

“I think I’d better take those,” Bill said. “I’ll bring Malfoy and Harry, if the two of you can get along for a day or two in the interest of keeping children from dying of curses.”

“When you put it that way,” Draco said.

“I actually don’t think it’s in the dormitory, at least,” Hermione said. “The rest of us are fine, and surely Draco or I would have tripped over the bloody thing.”

“I’m inclined to agree, but we’re still going to be careful,” Bill said. “It’s more likely to be in the dungeons than anywhere else, anyway. The goblins cleared Malfoy’s rooms and the Potions dungeon since we need him to be able to work.”

“I’m not entirely certain who this ‘we’ consists of,” Harry muttered.

“Okay,” Hermione said. “I think the Great Hall, halls, and staircases have to be our priority.”

“Already on it,” Bill said. “We’ve got a list. The library’s about last. Sorry, Hermione.”

“Apologize to the Ravenclaws, I’ve got nearly all the books I could want,” she said.

“I think most of it’s under control,” Neville said. “I think it’d help if they could see you, though. Most of the Slytherins are…”

“Completely and utterly terrified?” Draco said, mildly.

“I can’t really blame them,” Hermione said. “Is everyone asleep?”

“They ought to be, anyway,” Neville said. “I’m going to go back as soon as we’re done here.”

“I’ll come to breakfast, then,” Hermione said. “Wherever we’re having it.”

“Only if you’re already awake,” Draco said.

“I think you ought to rest,” Harry said.

“She’s going to kill both of you and no one in the Ministry will convict her,” Bill said. “Actually, I’d be willing to provide an alibi.”

“I’m going to breakfast because I’m going to be hungry,” Hermione said. “If you’d like to keep me from eating because I might put myself in danger with a spoon, you’re welcome to try.”

“God, you’re stubborn,” Harry said, affectionately, wrapping an arm around her.

“Stubborn and perfectly fine,” she said. “Bill, have you got a place to stay?”

“Neville’s office is done,” he said. “I’m going to transfigure the couch.”

“Harry?” she said. “My rooms like usual?”

“As if you could stop me,” he said.

“Trouble,” she said, ruffling his hair. “I’d really like to go to bed soon if we’re through.”

“I’ll get with McGonagall and Flitwick in the morning,” Bill said.

“I might be able to help tomorrow,” she said.

“ _No_ ,” said Harry and Draco simultaneously, then they both froze.

“Well, have fun with that,” Bill said, getting up. “See you in the morning.”

“Right behind you,” Neville said, as Bill pulled open the door. “Literally on your heels, don’t leave me with them.”

“What, so you’re leaving me instead?” Hermione said.

“I’m sure you can handle yourself,” Neville said. “Night!”

Harry and Draco were still glaring daggers at one another.

“All right, get out of my office,” she said. “Both of you.”

“What?” Draco said.

“Both of you can go,” she said. “I want to read for a while.”

“You can’t do that in your rooms?” Harry said. “I’ll read with you.”

Hermione snorted. “Liar,” she said.

“I’ll… look at Quidditch play books while you read?” Harry hazarded.

“Nice try,” she said. “I’ll come down in an hour or two.”

“You could come back with me, I’m going to check on Rory and Peter,” Draco said. “I think they’re still with Thomas.”

“Or I could stay here and read,” she said, gently. “I’m fine, Draco.”

Draco looked at Harry for a long moment. “All right,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“At breakfast,” she said, then stood up, reaching to touch his shoulder. “I’m glad – thanks for being there today.”

“I think our thanks is sleeping in the infirmary,” Draco said. “But you’re welcome, for what it’s worth.”

“A lot, actually,” she said.

“You don’t need to make both of us leave,” Draco said. “I’m fairly certain Potter might be tolerable on his own.”

“Of course I am,” Harry said, then paused. “Wait, I wasn’t agreeing with him.”

“No, you can both go,” Hermione said, firmly. “Harry, I will come to bed. Later.”

“Oh, all right,” Harry said. “I suppose I can’t let Malfoy show me up at the whole chivalrously agreeing to leave you be thing.”

“Yes, excellent reason, now go,” Hermione said.

She finished the better part of a book, but even though she was tired, she didn’t particularly feel like going to bed just to toss and turn. She let herself out of her office, checking in on the infirmary where Draco had obviously put together the other beds for Thomas’s parents and the rest of them. Harry had left the portrait to her rooms ajar. He was asleep on her sofa. She stopped to take off his glasses, and she thought about just going to bed again. She realized that she didn’t really want to.

The areas that had been cleared were lit with a soft sort of light, making everything beyond them seem darker than usual. Hermione walked down a set of stairs, glad that at least the doors didn’t seem to be magical. It was strange – none of the portraits stopped chatting when she walked by, and the lights didn’t turn toward her. She felt a little like a ghost, but then again, the portraits could sense ghosts. She couldn’t feel the castle; if she was honest, she felt like she’d been cut in half. But it had been worth it.

The lights disappeared just Draco’s portrait; his sphinx wasn’t home, but the backdrop was a river. Hermione had realized that an awful lot of portraits in the dungeons had something to do with water. She lifted her hand to knock, but the portrait opened before she could bother.

“I thought you might,” Draco said, almost fondly. “Want to come in?”

“I think so,” Hermione said.

“Can I get you a drink?” Draco said.

“Oh,” Hermione said, startled, looking past him. She hadn’t been to his rooms before, and somehow, she’d expected them to be an extension of the Potions dungeon or the Slytherin common room. But there were sweeping, vaulted ceilings and enormous windows into the lake. She could see dim lights in the distance, flashing in and out like foxfire as the current shifted. It seemed cold on first glance, but she realized Draco had shelves of books and that there was an enormous fireplace.

“Neville says the rooms change to your liking,” Malfoy said. “But they were like this when I showed up.” He smiled. “The merpeople seem to enjoy sneaking up on me.”

“It’s beautiful,” Hermione said, honestly.

“Wine or whiskey?” Draco said.

“Something hot,” Hermione said.

“I’ve got plenty of tea,” Draco said. “Do you just want a cup of that?”

Hermione laughed. “Only if you’re putting something in it.”

“Sleeping potion?” Draco said.

“I think I’ve had about enough of those for one day,” Hermione said, going to sit in front of the fire.

“I’ve got some cider somewhere,” Draco said. “It’s decent with firewhiskey.” 

“Done,” Hermione said, with a grin.

Draco came over a few minutes later with a mug and his own glass of whiskey, sitting down beside her on the couch. She could feel herself slowly start to relax.

“Can I ask you something?” Draco said, after a few minutes.

“Of course,” Hermione said.

“I’ve never –“ he looked considering. “You don’t really touch anyone here like that. It was strange to see Potter so… all over you.”

“That’s not a question,” Hermione said.

“Is it different with him than Neville or something?” Draco said.

“We’ve known each other since we were eleven,” Hermione said. “You lose a lot of boundaries along the way. Anyway, it would probably mean something different if I touched someone else that way. It’s just that it’s Harry.”

“We’ve all known each other since we were eleven,” Draco said.

“Malfoy,” she said, mildly.

“It’s not a stupid question,” he said. “You’re just different with him. I think I ought to have expected it.”

“Does it bother you?” Hermione said, finally.

There was a long pause. “Yes,” Draco said. “But I’m not jealous. I can’t quite figure it out.”

“Mm,” Hermione said. She considered, then very carefully leaned her head against Draco’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to try to make up ground or something,” he said. “I’m not that put out about it.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Hermione said. “But it’s been a very long day.”

“Why did you come down here?” Draco said. After a pause, he finally slid his arm around her shoulders. “Potter’s upstairs, presumably.”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, honestly. “But Harry’s not my entire world, you know.”

“He used to be,” Draco said.

“We grew up,” Hermione said. “Let’s not talk about Harry.”

“All right,” Draco said, finally. He still hadn’t relaxed. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t,” Hermione said. “I’m exhausted.”

“Do you want to go to bed?” Draco said.

“No,” Hermione said. “Stop pushing, Malfoy.”

“This is a little… uncharted,” he said, finally. “To use your word.”

“What, being friends?” Hermione said. “You started it.”

“I like plenty of people,” Draco said. “I think, at this point, plenty of people like me. But there isn’t really anyone I’d touch like that in front of other people.”

“Well, now there is,” she said. “Or at least, I wouldn’t mind if you did.” She tilted her head to look at him. “Has anyone asked how you’re doing?”

“I’m all right,” Draco said, vaguely.

“I’m not sure if anyone’s ever said so,” Hermione said, quietly. “But you’re allowed to be human.”

“I’m less sure of that than you,” Draco said. “What Rory said…”

“About you being a Death Eater?” Hermione said.

“I still have the mark,” Draco said, finally. “I think he’s right that it’s a for life thing.”

“I know you do, actually, I was just teasing upstairs,” Hermione said. “I’ve seen you without a shirt on, remember? And you keep rolling up your sleeves in front of me.” She looked at the curve of his jaw, and saw where he was staring out at the lake to avoid meeting her eyes. “It doesn’t look how I thought it would.”

Draco managed a laugh. “What, were you expecting solid black ink or something?”

“Maybe,” Hermione said. “Will you hate me if I say I think it might be interesting? I haven’t gotten the best look.”

“My magic’s been working on it for eleven or twelve years, it doesn’t look anything like it used to,” Draco said. He reached around her to unbutton his sleeve, then extended his arm toward her. “You can see if you want.”

If she hadn’t known what it stood for, she’d almost have liked it; it still had a skull and a snake, but there were other pieces too. She felt like she could almost recognize the green vines and briar roses from when she’d been able to see Draco that morning, and the snake had intricate scales and large, luminous eyes.

“Can I touch?” she said.

“Do you want to?” Draco said. He sounded as if she’d caught him utterly by surprise.

“I do, actually,” she said. She brushed her fingertips over it, but it didn’t feel any different than the rest of his skin.

When she looked up, he was staring at her with a look she’d never seen on his face before.

“Did you ever feel badly about the whole thing?” Hermione said, softly. “While it was happening, I mean?”

“Of course I did,” Draco said. “But who was I going to ask for help? My parents? Snape? We were all on the same side of the line. Or at least, I thought we were.”

“You know,” Hermione said, tracing the curve of the snake with her thumb. “You’ve gone and asked everyone else for forgiveness, has it ever occurred to you that you might want to forgive yourself?”

“Constantly,” Draco said. “I can’t seem to do it, though.”

“’Take what you will and pay for it,’ said the Gods to the morals,” Hermione said.

“What?” Malfoy said.

“It’s a Persian proverb,” she said. “It means that you choose what to do with your life, but you own the consequences.”

“I think I have,” Draco said.

“My point is,” Hermione said, “you could choose to do things where the consequence is happiness. You’ve more than paid for the rest of it.”

“I’m so incredibly tired of all of it,” Draco said.

“I am too,” Hermione said, softly. “Are you going to let me have this?”

“I don’t seem to be particularly good at saying no to you,” Draco said, but he sounded almost fond.

“So don’t,” she said.

She woke up to find that they’d both fallen asleep. The fire had burned down low, so the room was dark and warm. She considered the fact that Harry was very likely to murder her and that she’d somehow have to explain the fact that she was coming to breakfast from Draco’s rooms, then realized that – given everything – she didn’t care.

She summoned a blanket off Draco’s bed before she realized what she’d done.

“If you’re going to do that, you might as well make the couch bigger,” Draco murmured, obviously barely awake.

Hermione found that, if she focused, she could. “Go back to sleep,” she said, but Draco had already relaxed back against her side. She followed him under.

The dungeons, on reflection, were a much better place to sleep than her rooms, mostly because all the sunlight was filtered through ten meters of water and it was rather dim. But sleeping in the dungeons also apparently came with the consequence of waking up to Harry and Draco whispering furiously at one another.

“I can hear you,” she said, rubbing her eyes and sitting up. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t come back last night,” Harry said.

“I left a note,” Hermione said.

“That you were going to see ‘Draco’ in the dungeons,” Harry said.

“He hasn’t besmirched my honor or something,” Hermione said. She was very tempted to roll her eyes. “And even if he had, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”

“Potter,” Malfoy said. It was very clearly a warning.

“God, you’ve made your point, don’t push it,” Harry said, irritably. “I’ll stop. Pax.”

“Good,” Draco said. “I’ll find us something to eat.”

Harry came and sat next to her on the couch. “I came to see if you were okay,” he said. “Not to police your terrible taste in men.”

“You and I sleep on couches together all the time,” Hermione said. “It’s hardly new.”

“It’s a little new with Malfoy,” Harry said, but it didn’t sound like he was complaining. “Just give me some time to get used to it, all right?”

“You want to get used to it?” she said, doubtfully.

“Malfoy made some decent points about the whole thing,” Harry said. “And so did Neville after you went to bed. Or to Malfoy’s couch, apparently.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Hermione said.

“No,” Harry said. “And presumably the rest of you haven’t either, so there’s got to be at least a few redeeming personality traits. I mean, I can’t figure out what they are, but he saved a kid. That’s worth something.”

“I’m glad to have your approval,” Draco said. He had a few mugs of tea and a plate of scones. Hermione tried valiantly not to grab the entire thing, but she hadn’t eaten since her office the night before, and, apparently, she was starving.

“I’m pretty sure you don’t think Harry has a single redeeming personality trait,” Hermione said. “Is this some idiotic long game strategy?”

“It turns out he had something I wanted after all,” Draco said.

“I love you and you’ve done about a million things for me,” Harry said. “Pretending to be civil with Malfoy is the least I can do.”

“You’re both insane,” she said, but when she tried to stand up, she found that it wasn’t entirely… possible.

“Saw that one coming,” Draco said.

“From London,” Harry agreed.

“Seriously, stop it,” Hermione said, trying not to wolf down the scone. That wasn’t entirely possible either. “It’s sort of horrifying.”

Harry laughed. “Oh, well, now we’ve got to. Horrifying you is my favorite pastime, it means I’m doing something right with my life.”

“God, there are so many naked women behind that statement,” Hermione said.

“It’s not my fault you can’t manage to leave locked doors alone,” Harry said.

“The locked door from my bedroom to the living room couch, you mean,” Hermione said.

“Can we not talk about Potter and naked women?” Draco said. “Possibly ever again?”

“You spent the night with Hermione on a couch, you haven’t got any stones to throw,” Harry said. He was grinning.

“We weren’t naked,” Hermione said. “And if we had been and you’d walked in, turnabout’s fair play.”

“Okay, muggle women picked up in bars aren’t the same thing as Malfoy,” Harry said. “Also, let’s not talk about Malfoy without clothes on.”

“You – why would anyone do that?” Malfoy said.

“Try being the most famous person in the wizarding world,” Harry said. “I think I’d have to marry someone first just to have my personal life not end up in the tabloids.”

“You may have a point,” Malfoy said.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I think I miss being seventeen,” Hermione said. “No one had a sex life to talk about and you two weren’t ganging up on me.”

“I don’t miss being seventeen for exactly those reasons,” Harry said.

“I need more food than this,” Hermione said. “And I’m somewhat concerned that if no one sees me today, they’re going to think I’m dead and everyone’s making up the fact that I’m fine.”

“Well, you’re not going to breakfast,” Draco said. “Which is half over.”

“McGonagall’s up and riding herd on them anyway,” Harry said. “Apparently she doesn’t need a lot of magic to keep everyone in line.”

“I cast a ridiculously difficult spell and burned myself out a bit,” Hermione said. “It doesn’t mean I’m suddenly a china doll.”

“We happen to think you’re right, actually,” Draco said. “So I’m going to take you to the Gryffindor common room. You can’t possibly see all of them, but you can probably see enough that they’ll believe that you’re fine. Everyone’s been in there, there’s apparently some sort of castle-wide effort to make the Slytherins feel better.”

“I’m going back with Bill. By the way, Lena’s pretty good. She should think about coming to work for us when she’s done.” He glanced at Draco. “She said she hasn’t got the right classes, but honestly, I couldn’t care less about Potions, it’s been worthless for a while.”

“No argument here,” Draco said. “Although you’d better get it back on in two or three years.”

“Done,” Harry said.

“Hold on,” Hermione said. “Shouldn’t you be off helping them?”

“I’m –“ Draco paused. He was actually looking at Harry as if he wanted back up.

“I overcast yesterday, those were powerful spells,” Draco said. “And then there weren’t really any options, so I kept casting things. I’m tired.”

“Don’t give him a hard time about not saying anything, he was worried about you.”

“You –“ Hermione said. “Harry, you hate him.”

“I don’t, actually,” Harry said. “I hate all the stupid things he did and how he was in school, but he asked me to start over for your sake.” He shrugged. “I’ve got better grudges to hold. You got over the same objections I had.”

“I’m a little less mercurial,” Hermione said.

“Yes, which is why I’m not getting cozy with Malfoy on sofas,” Harry said.

“That’s a recent development,” Draco said. “But if you’d seen - I think you’ve probably seen worse, but not with her in the middle of it.”

“I’ve seen her in the middle of things and it makes me want to kill people,” Harry said. “I get it.”

“I’m perfectly capable of fending for myself,” Hermione said. “Don’t go all chauvinist on me now.”

“It’s not because you’re a woman,” Draco said. “It’s because –“ He looked at Harry again.

“That’s got absolutely nothing to do with it,” Harry agreed. “I’m not some bloody knight in shining armor by a long shot. But you’re the most important person in my life and it scares me to think of something happening to you.”

“Oh, all right,” Hermione said. “I feel the same way, so I guess I can’t be too angry at you for it.”

“You do tend to show up and yell at everyone any time anything happens to me in the field,” Harry said. “What was it? Turnabout’s fair play?”

“You’re infuriating,” Hermione said. Standing made her less dizzy now that she’d eaten something. “And I need something real to eat and to see my students.”

She was a little out of breath by the time she got to the Gryffindor common room, but the portraits could see her again and she didn’t have to worry about getting stuck somewhere on a moving staircase, which was a relief.

“I’m just going to –“ Malfoy said, opening the door, when they were both nearly knocked over by a first year who had flung herself at him.

“Professor Malfoy!” she said. “You came back!”

“I was here an hour ago,” he said, patiently. “I promised I’d come back. Do I break promises?”

“No,” she said, finally, looking up at him. “Mrs. Longbottom said you went to get breakfast.”

“Oh, good,” Hannah said. She looked amused. “Lydia was about to mount a search and rescue effort.”

“Lydia,” Draco said, crouching so he was at her level. “Have I not come back any of the five times I’ve promised I’d come back?”

“It could happen,” she said. Hermione realized, to her surprise, that she was one of the Gryffindors. “Scarlett said you might have been eaten a grue. We were worried.”

“I don’t have any idea what that is,” Draco said. “So let’s assume I won’t be eaten by one, shall we? Go –“ He glanced across the room. “Look, the second years are playing Snap. Go do that with them.”

“Hey, it’s Dr. Granger,” said one of the Slytherin seventh years. He leaned back in his chair. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Watch it, Grey,” she said, amused. “Rory’s already got a monopoly on desperate flirting.”

“Damn it, Locke,” he said, good-naturedly. She realized most of the students had turned to look at her. “I guess you must be all right if you’re joking about Rory.”

“’Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated,’” she said.

“Do you ever answer questions like a normal person?” Draco said.

“That’s Twain,” she said. “I’m not letting a perfectly good quoting opportunity go to waste.”

“Well, she’s definitely fine,” Grey said, and went back to his chess match.

“Are you going to find me some breakfast or not?” she asked Draco, sitting on one of the loveseats. Someone had turned it a rather revolting shade of shamrock.

“I don’t know if I should go,” Draco said. “There might be a grue.”

“That’s a fictional muggle thing, so no, there isn’t,” she said.

“You don’t know that,” Draco said, with a straight face. “Are we sure we’re willing to risk it?”

“For bacon and eggs, yes,” she said. 

“You can bring me some too,” Hannah said. She sat down next to Hermione with a yawn. “And tea, definitely tea.”

“I’m guessing you got excessive amounts of sleep,” Hermione said. “With absolutely no interruptions.”

“Oh, none whatsoever,” Hannah said. “I sent a bunch of them off to play Quidditch, they’re going stir crazy.”

“Two days of card games and no classes, why wouldn’t they be completely entertained?”

“Talking about something important?” Bastian said. “Can I cut in?”

“Absolutely,” Hannah said. “I’m going to go make sure no one sets fire to the curtains with those cards.”

“Sit,” Hermione said, gesturing to the other half of the loveseat. “How are you?”

“Dunno,” he said. “Yesterday doesn’t feel quite real, and now we’re all stuck in here. And –“ He looked at her. “I mean, I know you and Professor Malfoy and the Headmistress are good, but no one’s saying much about it. I know – when we got out of there, Thomas…”

“I know exactly what it looked like, honestly,” Hermione said. “And you deserve to know what happened, but maybe not…” She gestured to the first years. “Here and now. I think it’d be all right if you asked Rory or Peter, though.”

“Good luck getting either of them out of the infirmary,” Bastian said, but he didn’t sound particularly put out about it.

“Did anyone make sure you were okay yesterday?” Hermione said, quietly.

“Yeah, Professor Malfoy came and got us from your office,” Bastian said. “He said it had been touch and go but that Thomas was going to be all right. You know, he’s loads better at this whole Head of House thing than Slughorn was.”

“I do know, actually,” Hermione said. “But I’m not sure he does, you ought to tell him.”

“Maybe,” Bastian said. “He’s a Slytherin, though.” He grinned. “We’re can be touchy about compliments. It might be better coming from you.”

“Oh, shove off,” Hermione said, laughing. “I’m a Gryffindor, you know he absolutely won’t hear it from me.”

“That doesn’t sound ominous at all,” Draco said. He held out a plate of food.

“Couldn’t say,” Bastian said. “You’d better watch her.”

“Prat,” Hermione said, fondly. “Go bother the first years. I’ll be in my office later if you want to talk.”

She moved over to make more room for Draco, trying to balance her tea and the food. He finally cast a stabilizing spell at her mug, looking amused. “If you can transfigure a couch, you can keep yourself from spilling tea.”

“So,” Hermione said, around a mouthful of eggs. “You and the first years seem to have gotten rather cozy.”

“That one,” Draco said, his eyes narrowing. “That one is a complete and utter menace.”

“No one’s swarmed me,” she observed. “I think they might already feel adequately looked after.”

“Of course they do,” Draco said. He hid a yawn. “Hannah and Neville were here all night.”

“I meant you,” she said. “Thank you for taking care of them.”

“It’s part of my job,” Draco said. “Actually, it’s very much my job.”

“That lot are your job,” Hermione said, gesturing at a group of Slytherins lounging on the boys’ staircase. “Teaching potions is your job. Taking care of Gryffindor first years in crisis situations isn’t.” 

“That’s a rather narrow view,” Draco said.

“Yes, and thank you for thinking that,” Hermione said, quietly.

“Your expectations are so low I’m liable to trip over them,” Draco said.

“I did think they’d all be reasonably proficient in Potions,” she said, with a grin. “The rest of it is just icing on the cake.”

“Oh, look, the second years are still playing Snap,” Draco said. “They look as if they could use some help fending off Lydia. You really ought to go check on the situation.”

Hermione actually spent the majority of her weekend playing cards in the Gryffindor common room, although she begged off playing Snap on the grounds that if her hair caught fire, she wouldn’t be able to put it out. Her magic came back; it was slower than she’d have liked, but at least it was steady. By Tuesday the Aurors and Gringotts goblins had cleared most of the classrooms. She privately suspected everyone was glad to get back to classes no matter how much they complained.

She watched Bill and Harry get progressively more frustrated, until they finally ended up drinking in her office a week later.

“We’ve searched everywhere,” Bill said. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything.”

“I don’t either,” Harry said. “Which makes sort of strange that he ran across it, but something nasty turning up at Hogwarts isn’t really new.”

“That’s a disconcerting idea,” Hermione said. “I don’t really like the idea of dark artifacts floating around the castle.”

“I actually don’t agree,” Draco said, holding up a hand when Harry started to protest. “I agree that we’re not going to find anything, I just don’t think he stumbled across something that was already here. That curse was the darkest variety of magic, dark wizards don’t do things like that for sport. It’s too much work.”

“He’s right that I’d really have expected it to be an actual cursed object, not a one off,” Bill said. “But since we can’t find it and I really can’t think of a particularly good idea for someone to be trying to kill a perfectly ordinary sixteen-year old, I think we’re going to have to call it until he wakes up and can tell us something. Let’s just hope he remembers.”

“Hold on,” Draco said. “Is he really a perfectly ordinary sixteen-year old?”

“It’s not as if he’s Harry or something, with the Dark Lord constantly trying to off him,” Bill said. “No offense, Harry.”

“You’re not wrong,” Harry said.

Malfoy looked as if he was choosing his words carefully. “I can’t think of anyone who would have known that magic who wasn’t a pureblood. It’s not something I can imagine putting down in a textbook. And there’s a message in it, isn’t there? It’s an exsanguination curse.”

“Someday, horrible wizards are going to stop doing horrible things over the issue of blood purity and I’m going to be out of a fucking job,” Harry said. “I’ve got to tell you, I’m really looking forward to it.”

“But he’s not a muggleborn,” Hermione said. “Maybe not as much of a pureblood as you, but his parents both went to Hogwarts. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“That’s not good enough for some people and you know it,” Harry said, bitterly.

“Of course it’s not, but if you were really going to make an issue of it, why on earth would you pick Thomas?” Hermione said.

“I don’t know,” Draco said.

“Regardless, whatever it was, we can’t find it,” Bill said. “And honestly, we can’t keep the entire castle on lockdown forever.”

“I think we seal the sixth year Slytherin dormitory and call it good enough until we’ve got an actual eyewitness,” Harry said.

“I thought we cleared that,” Bill said.

“We did,” Draco said. “I think Potter’s trying to say we want to give the sixth-year boys an out.”

“They said they’d rather sleep in the Gryffindor common room permanently than go back in there,” Harry said. “I don’t really think there’s anything there, but we might as well claim it’s the most likely spot and leave it alone. McGonagall said she’d sort it tomorrow when she gets back from Durmstrang.” She’d gone to see if any of the professors there had any insight into the whole thing, although since Bill hadn’t gotten an owl, she suspected McGonagall hadn’t found much.

“I’m going to do one more pass tomorrow morning and then go back to London before I get served with a divorce owl and my children forget who I am,” Bill said. “But I can come straight back if anyone needs me.”

“I probably ought to get back too,” Harry said. “Apparently departmental morale’s suffering in my absence across six offices or something.”

“The Ministry’s going with particularly insipid excuses this time, aren’t they?” Draco said, dryly. “It’s good to know where their priorities lie.”

“Well, we’re potentially down the entire Muggle Relations Office with Beatrix Ryan out,” Harry said. “I’ve got to go make sure her Deputy is up to snuff before the whole thing goes to pieces, or at least that’s what the last owl implied.”

“Hold on,” Hermione said. “Beatrix Ryan heads Muggle Relations?”

“She’s actually good at it, too,” Harry said. “She’s literally the only Office head who doesn’t make me want to splinch myself on a regular basis.”

“Is she new?” Hermione said.

“Didn’t they just propose a legislative piece?” Draco said.

“Yeah, it’s an expansion on the statue of secrecy, harsher punishments for crimes against muggles,” Harry said, then Hermione watched his eyes go dark. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?” Bill said.

“His mother just authored a very unpopular bill,” Draco said. “Well, unpopular in some circles, anyway.”

“So you think this whole thing was political?” Bill said.

“There’s absolutely no way that’s a coincidence,” Hermione said.

“That makes it my problem,” Harry said. “And it means I’ve got to get back to London as soon as possible, because I need to put most of the Aurors on it. We can’t let that sort of thing stand. I mean, I wouldn’t anyway if someone tried to kill a teenager, but we’re in real trouble if people think they can start changing laws by threatening people’s families.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “We just can’t seem to win this war.”

“I’ll ask around,” Draco said, quietly. “My parents probably have some connections, as much as I hate to admit it.”

“Hating to admit it means you’re not them,” Harry said. “But I’ll take anything you can come up with.”

Draco looked startled. “All right,” he said.

“I’ve got to go send about a hundred owls,” Harry said.

“I think you ought to be the one to talk to Beatrix,” Hermione said. “I barely know her, and it can’t wait until tomorrow.”

“Oh, lovely,” Harry said. “My absolute favorite thing is having to tell parents that something happened to their child because someone’s got a problem with them doing their job.” He rubbed his face again. “You’re right, obviously. I need to do it.”

“If you’ll have me, I’ll help,” Draco said. Everyone turned to look at him. He looked slightly defensive. “I don’t know her well either, but I know plenty about the group of people who are clinging to very antiquated beliefs. She needs to know that this wasn’t her fault. They’d rather choose violence than change, that’s not on anyone else.”

“Let’s go get it over with,” Harry said. He sounded profoundly tired. “I’ve got to leave first thing in the morning.”

“I’ll pack your things,” Hermione said. She had a feeling no one was going to get very much sleep. “And owl McGonagall.”

“I think this means it was more likely to be a one-time spell,” Bill said. “And I don’t think we need to worry about checking anywhere that Ryan wasn’t. But I want to look one more time.”

“I’ll back you in the morning,” Hermione said. She’d been helping the last few days. No one searched anything on their own for safety. “But I think I’m going to bed if no one else needs me tonight. I’m exhausted.”

“Get some rest,” Bill said. “I really don’t think there’s much else we can do at the moment.”

A week passed, then two. Harry was working on it, but it was obvious from the increasingly terse owls that he wasn’t getting anywhere. It was a few days before Hermione stopped holding her breath every time someone knocked on her door, but eventually, she had to conclude that if there had been something in the castle, someone else would have stumbled over it. Things got easier, bit by bit, until everything nearly felt normal again, aside from Thomas in the infirmary and Draco’s tendency to watch her a little too closely when he thought she wasn’t looking.

“Am I looking at this the wrong way?” he said. He was stretched out on her sofa, marking essays. “I thought I was holding it upside down, but now I’m not sure.”

“That bad?” Hermione said.

“I’m tempted to fail all the fifth years,” Draco said. “I think my first years could write better essays. And I’m supposed to believe they’re actually taking OWL preparation seriously? Maybe I need to be offering more extra classes.”

“That’s quixotic of you,” Hermione said. “But no, you’re just going to have to resign yourself to not getting much done in December.”

“It’s too early to check out for the holidays,” Draco said. He flipped the paper again. “Fuck it, I’m failing this one.”

“If you can’t read it, that seems fair,” Hermione said. “I was going to get more tea, do you want –“

She stopped mid-sentence when Rory suddenly skidded into her office. Peter appeared a minute later, looking slightly more composed, although he was breathing hard.

“Is everything all right?” Hermione said, startled. None of the infirmary spells had gone off, which meant that Thomas had to be fine.

“We thought of something,” Rory said.

“And you had to run up here after curfew?” Draco said, mildly. He sat up. “What is it?”

“It was his birthday,” Rory said. “A few weeks ago, I mean. After everything had already happened.”

“And?” Draco said.

“And he got a watch from his mum at breakfast,” Rory said. “It was neat, kind of… old looking. He said it was a birthday present, and that his dad must have forged the note because his mum had never been early with a present in his entire life.”

“Only,” Peter said, “we just overheard his mum telling his dad that she wished she’d had a chance to owl Thomas his present.”

“So we asked, and he wasn’t getting a watch, he was getting a broomstick,” Rory said. “It’s not even the same sort of thing, is it?”

“No,” Hermione said, slowly.

“Did he wear it at all?” Draco said.

“I don’t know,” Rory said. “We think he might have had it on at dinner, but none of us remember. I wish I could.”

“Don’t feel bad, Lena and I can’t think of it either,” Peter said. “Do you think one of the professors saw? Maybe you? He had Potions.”

“I wouldn’t have noticed, honestly,” Draco said. “But a watch isn’t something he’d have left lying around the castle. It would be in with his things, wouldn’t it? I take mine off before bed, presumably he’d do the same thing.”

“We’ve checked their rooms five or six times,” Hermione said. “There’s nothing in there.”

“Maybe it isn’t anything,” Rory said. He looked slightly crestfallen. “But we thought you might want to know. His mum and dad are sure they didn’t send anything.”

“It’s too much of a coincidence for my liking,” Draco said. “It’s jewelry and we don’t know who sent it, that’s two pieces of information I don’t like when you put them together.”

“Me either,” Hermione said. “Rory, Peter, I think we’d like to come up with a game plan alone, if you don’t mind.” She stood, going to squeeze Rory’s shoulder. “We just need to decide who to talk to about it. But I think it might be important, so thank you for noticing. If anyone stops you going back, just tell them you were coming to see me.”

Rory reached, a little shyly, to hug her. “Don’t let anything happen to Hermione, okay?” he said to Draco. “I won’t be best pleased if some stupid haunted watch gets her too.”

“Either of you, actually,” Peter said. “We just got a decent Head of House, you’d better be committed to sticking around.”

“I can promise that we’re not going to do anything risky,” Draco said, firmly.

“Go on, we’ll let you know if we find anything,” Hermione said. 

She went to shut the door after they’d gone back into the hallway. “Is that a promise you were intending to keep?”

“I’m not going to go around summoning cursed watches, if that’s what you mean,” Draco said.

“Do we owl Bill?” she said. “Get the Headmistress?”

“I think I want to take a look at their room before we go and bother everyone,” Draco said. “We were all in there repeatedly, the elves have cleaned it top to bottom and they can see more magic than we can, and it’s not like Bill or McGonagall to miss anything. Or Potter, for that matter. They’ve all been through everything in there.”

“Maybe it’s not triggering anything because it’s not cursed anymore,” Hermione said.

“That could be it,” Draco said. “If you’re doing a political assassination, I doubt you want the evidence left lying around.”

“I’ll go with you,” Hermione said.

“Absolutely not,” Draco said.

“If it’s dangerous, you shouldn’t go either,” Hermione said. “Besides, we don’t search anything alone, remember?”

“I’ve got a few pairs of dragonhide gloves,” Draco said, finally. He still looked as if he wanted to argue with her. “If we’re about to go digging around in their room, we might want to wear them.”

“Do those work on spells?” Hermione said. “I thought it was just potions.”

“I didn’t think of it when everyone was searching, but yes,” Draco said. “Bill used them when he was picking locks in Egypt. And it makes sense, they won’t do anything if you get into toxic ingredients, but they stop potions from working. That’s effectively stopping magic. It won’t be foolproof, but it’s better than not using anything.”

“If you really think it’s going to be that bad –“ she said.

“I don’t,” Draco said. “Honestly. But I’d really rather nothing happen to you.” He smiled, though it looked a little forced. “I don’t have your encyclopedic knowledge of spells, I might not be able to figure out how to save you.”

“Quit being melodramatic,” Hermione said. “We’ll just owl Bill if we find anything strange.”

McGonagall had closed the stones in over the door to the dormitory, although the room was still there behind everything. Draco lead her down the hallway, running a hand over the wall until he’d found whatever he was looking for. A moment later, the door had come back. Draco held it open for her.

It looked shockingly normal once she’d lit the torches. Hermione hadn’t been back since that morning, mostly because Draco and Harry had cut her off at the pass every time she’d tried, but it looked exactly the same as the other Slytherin dorm rooms. The other boys had gotten their things and someone had taken Peter’s trunk and cleared out his space in the wardrobe, but the bed hangings were still there and someone had forgotten to take down his Wimbourne Wasps posters.

“Gloves,” Draco reminded her.

“There’s barely anything in here,” Hermione said.

“Check the bed, maybe,” Draco said. “If you were a nasty cursed watch, where would you be?”

“In his trunk,” Hermione said, dryly. “But we know that can’t be it, Bill went through everything.”

“Actually,” Draco said, thoughtfully. “I meant it when I said I take mine off before bed.”

“Definitely not in the wardrobe,” Hermione said, after a moment of looking. She pulled on the gloves, then crouched by the nightstand. She tentatively opened the drawer, but it only had a few chocolate frog cards and some quills. “Nothing here either.”

“You’re looking at the problem like a Gryffindor,” Draco said, dropping down next to her. “Slytherins like to hide things.”

“Well, there isn’t a false bottom to the drawer,” Hermione said.

“We’re smarter than that,” Draco said. He ran his fingers along the underside of the drawer.

“If it’s in some sort of strange compartment, would that explain why we didn’t see it when we were searching before?” Hermione said.

“No, it’s just an extension of the piece of furniture,” Draco said. “It’s just that most of the Slytherin furniture was made by, well, Slytherins. Hang on, I can feel the catch.”

A moment later, the top drawer slid back in and a second slid out – it was almost as if there were two completely separate drawers. The second one had something thin and almost film-like over the top.

“Hmm,” Draco said. “I don’t suppose you’ve read anything on burglary lately?”

“No, why?” Hermione said.

“Fantastically complex anti-theft spell,” Draco said. “It’ll have a password, probably, but he’s not awake to tell it to us.” He was considering. “I suppose we could just owl Bill after all. Or I’ve got at least one book on jewelry theft in my library, that might do it.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Hermione said. “I think I know the password.”

“How can you possibly?” Draco said. “It could be anything.”

“The only person with a worse sense of humor in this castle than you is Thomas,” she said. “So he’d have picked something stupid, and Rory’s his best friend.”

“Rory?” Draco said.

“Yes,” Hermione said, leaning closer to the drawer. “And his last name’s Locke.”

The spell shimmered for a moment, then disappeared as if she were peeling open parchment paper.

“That’s so indescribably bad I don’t even have words,” Draco informed her.

“Look,” Hermione said. There was a stack of galleons, a few pairs of cufflinks, and a watch.

“Oh,” Draco said. “As someone who’s well-versed in cursed jewelry, that looks fairly suspect.”

“I don’t think we ought to cast at it,” Hermione said. “Or touch it, really. Bill will know, won’t he?”

“It’s charming that you think I haven’t already solved this problem,” Draco said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a vial of what looked like powder. It was glowing faintly in the torchlight. He leaned closer, touching the catch to switch the drawers, and then switching back. The anti-theft spell had come back.

Draco upended the vial on top of it, and Hermione could suddenly see the faint blue glow of the spell under the dust. 

“Locke,” he murmured, and as the spell crept back again, the powder fell like dust into the drawer.

“What is that?” she said.

“Ground thestral bone,” Draco said. “It lets you see if someone’s added a spell to a potion. I don’t think most people bother to notice that what it really does is show you magic. And that is some extraordinarily dark magic.”

The powder had fallen on the watch, and where it touched, Hermione could suddenly see black. It was so dark it almost obscured the watch, but it had been sitting in the drawer for weeks. The magic had started creeping outward. There were tendrils spreading from the watch like spiderweb, all along the bottom and up the sides of the drawer. It made her feel vaguely sick, as if she was looking at something so completely and utterly wrong that it shouldn’t have existed at all.

“They make special boxes, you know,” Draco said, too lightly. “Just so you don’t get any cursed object residue on your grandmother’s bone china in the vault. That would be quite the scandal.”

“Would touching that part be enough to trigger it?” Hermione said.

“I don’t think so, but let’s not find out,” Draco said. “This is officially above my pay grade.”

“I think we should owl Bill,” Hermione said.

“And Potter,” Draco said. “And, I think, my parents.”

“Your parents?” Hermione said. “Why?”

Draco triggered the drawer again. “Interesting about the anti-magic spell, it must have disrupted the detection spells. Didn’t think of that.”

“Draco,” Hermione said.

“I’m about to say something and I’m aware it’s going to sound as if I’ve lost my mind,” he said, finally. “But I think they may be able to help. They didn’t know much before, but let’s just say I think they might be significantly more motivated now.”

“Why would they do that?” Hermione said. “I don’t get the impression they do a lot of consulting for the Aurors.”

Draco climbed to his feet, offering her a hand. “It’s overly traditional, but purebloods are very much like Slytherins,” he said. “If you come after one of us, you’ve come after all of us. And Peter was sitting across the table when Thomas opened that watch. This doesn’t have any restriction clauses, so if he’d touched it, he would have been exsanguinated too.”

“And Peter’s a Selwyn,” Hermione said. 

“My parents know his family,” Draco agreed. “His parents are all right, but someone in there was a Death Eater.” He stopped by the doorway. “The Ministry by no means imprisoned or even caught on to the vast majority of people who supported Voldemort. Not by a long shot. Let’s just say that the people who didn’t end up in Azkaban are still a rather tight circle. That’s got to be a cousin or an uncle or something. No one’s going to stand for that no matter what the justification was.”

“I know you like your parents,” Hermione said, finally. “But that’s horrifying on a number of levels, most of which I can’t even begin to name.”

“If it makes you feel better, they’re not going to be happy about Thomas getting hurt either,” Draco said. “The Malfoy pedigree has a decent number of half-bloods mixed in. And Beatrix Ryan used to be Beatrix Parkinson. She was Pansy’s cousin twice removed or something, I remember seeing photos of them together when we were in school.”

“Hamish isn’t even a muggleborn,” Hermione said.

“Exactly,” Draco said. “I’d say my parents on the cold side of vaguely willing to accept muggleborns these days, but the Ryans are a good wizarding family. Not as established as one of the twenty-eight by any means, but certainly decent.”

The fires had burned down in the common room, and Draco held open the portrait for her.

“So that’s… what, good enough that they’ll care someone tried to kill him?” Hermione said.

“Let me put it this way,” Draco said. “If Thomas had a sister and I wanted to marry her, they’d probably accept the choice.”

“Oh, well, that’s comforting,” Hermione said. “You know, just what every girl dreams of, being qualified to marry Malfoys.”

“They’re not going to be pleased with any of it, is my point,” Draco said. “Between me asking, the Selwyn piece, and the fact that the boys are all Slytherins, if there’s anything to be found out, they’ll find it. My mother is good at getting information out of people.”

“Must be a family trait,” Hermione said. “Bellatrix certainly was.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco said, after a moment. He’d stopped in the hall. “I probably shouldn’t be talking about this with you.”

“It’s okay,” Hermione said, finally. She stopped too. He looked very tired and very unsure, and she realized the position he was in.

“Not really,” Draco said. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t know any of them. I wish I didn’t even know how to think about these things, let alone draw all the connections.”

“Maybe it’s not the worst thing,” Hermione said, softly. “It means you can help here.”

“I can shrug off stuffy dinner parties and inheriting four houses and never being able to be myself around them,” Draco said. “But I can’t really let go of the piece where they tortured and killed people.”

“I know,” Hermione said. She suddenly wanted very badly to touch him, to make it okay again. She couldn’t fix it, not really, but she stepped in closer, reaching up to brush his hair out of his face as she looked up at him.

“I thought about just leaving all of it a few times,” Draco said. “I don’t need the money, I don’t care about the manor. But I think I’d break my mother’s heart, and even if I know how many cruel and terrible things she’s done…”

“Don’t,” Hermione said, softly. “Don’t ever feel guilty for loving people. I think the world would probably be a very different place if anyone had made the time or the effort to love Tom Riddle. You can’t apologize for that.”

“It’s just hard to wrap my head around,” Draco said. “She’s the person who read me stories every night before bed and taught me how to ride a broom. I’d say I can’t imagine her doing what she did, but I was standing there for some of it.”

“I know,” Hermione said, softly.

“Do you?” Draco said. “I can’t imagine you think much of me for not cutting everything off. You hate them.”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t,” Hermione said. “We both know what they did during the war. I wouldn’t be sorry if they’d been prosecuted. But you gave up a lot. You’ve changed. I don’t think it’s fair to ask you to give up everything on principle. And it would be on principle, because you refusing to see them wouldn’t change anything at this point. It would just make three people miserable.”

“I hardly think you’d care if my father was miserable,” Draco said.

“Well, no,” Hermione admitted. “But I’d care very much if you were.”

“Thanks,” Draco said. He still looked incredibly conflicted, like he was having an entire argument with himself that she wasn’t privy to.

“Sometimes you have to live with the fact that none of it’s very black and white,” she said.

“That’s the problem,” Draco said. 

Giving in to impulse, she closed the distance between them and hugged him. “I’m sorry it’s not easier,” she said. “I wish I could make it better for you somehow, but I’m not sure that’s how this works.”

“Oh,” Draco said, sounding startled, but a moment later he hugged her back. When she drew back, she found that he was looking at her a little strangely.

“I never know what to expect with you,” he said, finally. “You of all people should want to steer clear of this.”

“I would, except I don’t think you should have to go it alone,” she said. “You’re my friend.”

“I’m not sure I deserve that kind of loyalty,” Draco said.

“Too late,” Hermione said. “I’ll owl Harry and Bill if you owl your parents.”

“We’d better stop for your coat, it was snowing earlier,” Draco said.

“Some wizard you are if you can’t even keep us warm up there,” she said, laughing.

Bill and a few goblins took the first train the next morning. They emerged from the dungeons with a small box. Bill looked furious.

“That might be one of the nastiest curses I’ve ever seen,” he said. “And that’s saying something.”

“Leave it to purebloods,” Draco said. “If you can’t try to take out innocent children in gruesome and horrifying ways, it’s not worth doing.”

“Not funny,” Bill informed him.

“It was a little funny,” Hermione said. “Do we need to do anything else?”

“The room ought to be safe, although I can’t break the curse on the watch,” Bill said. “But that’s not unusual for objects that have steeping in dark magic for decades. We’ve got storage for that sort of thing. The goblins are going to try to look into the provenance, but I doubt they’ll find much.”

“Draco said as much,” Hermione said. “Harry said he’d come up this weekend if we wanted him to, but I’m not sure I see the point.”

“I don’t either,” Bill said. “We’ll touch base this afternoon or tomorrow.”

“Thanks for coming to help,” Hermione said.

“It’s my job,” Bill said. “Besides, you two did all the heavy lifting.”

“Have a safe trip back,” Draco said.

A few days later, an enormous grey owl swooped to land on the professor’s table at breakfast. It was carrying what looked like a leather folio.

“Calliope, I know you like bacon, but there are rules about landing on the breakfast table,” Draco said, untying the package. The owl was sitting on the table, eying his plate.

“Friend of yours?” Hermione said. She held out a slice of bacon. The owl considered, took it carefully, then ate the whole thing in one gulp.

“Now you’ve rewarded her and she’s going to continue to think this is a good idea,” Draco said.

“She seems to think that already,” Hermione pointed out.

“It’s admittedly very funny to watch her do it in the middle of dinner parties,” Draco said. He fed her a piece of bacon too. “Go on, go back. You’re going to get too fat to fly and then Damaris will have to do all the work.”

She blinked at him a few more times, swiped another piece of bacon off Hermione’s plate, and then took off.

“I somehow doubt this is a Christmas present,” Draco said. “I think I’d better open it in my office.”

“What, do we think it’s a severed head?” Hermione said. “It can’t be that bad.”

Draco undid the clasp and looked in. “It’s a lot of parchment,” he said. “I’m still going to my office.”

“I’ll come with,” Hermione said.

“Let’s see what they have to say,” Draco said.

She came to look over his shoulder while Draco pulled out the papers and scrolls onto his desk.

“That’s an awful lot of house seals for it to be nothing,” he said, looking through the scrolls. He pulled out a scroll that had been sealed twice, once with what looked like a sun and once with a flower.

“Oh, mother and father in the same letter, this ought to be good,” Draco said.

“Are those from rings?” Hermione said.

“The letter is, and that other letter,” Draco said. “The rest of them are house seals.”

“What’s the difference?” Hermione said. “Purebloods aren’t very fond of writing down their traditions outside of books that only other purebloods can see, before you ask why I haven’t read about it somewhere.”

“Signet seals are proof that it’s really from whoever says they sent it,” Draco said. “I’ve got one. I never use it, though.”

“Dragon?” Hermione said.

“Briar rose,” he said, with a sudden grin. “They’re all over the manor. I like them. Besides, that would have been a little obvious, don’t you think?”

“And the others?” Hermione said.

“Malfoy, Avery, Carrow, Parkinson –“ He looked at the last one. “I think this is Selwyn. I’ve only seen theirs in books.”

“I meant what the seal was, not whose seal it was,” she said.

“House seals mean no one can open them but the intended recipient or they’ll destroy themselves,” he said. “These are for –“ He paused. “Potter? All of them? That can’t be right.”

“Maybe it can,” Hermione said. “You probably ought to read the letter.”

“You’d better go over there,” Draco said. “My mother’s signet was made out of one of the Black house seals, so her letters are always picky about who reads them.”

“The paranoia there is sort of astounding, really,” Hermione said. She went to one of the armchairs by the fire, which someone had thoughtfully started.

Draco went quiet as he read, then looked up to meet her eyes. He looked very startled, but almost… relieved. She wondered when he’d become so easy to read.

“Well,” he said, finally. “They’ve just wrapped it up and handed it to Potter, complete with a very neatly tied bow.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione said.

“Told you they’d close ranks,” Draco said. “My father recognized the watch. I sent a sketch, and anyway, the curse is unique. Do you happen to remember Octavius Rowle?”

“Vaguely,” Hermione said. “He was in the news for something or another a year or two ago.”

“The something or another was assaulting and murdering four muggle women,” Draco said. “He went to Azkaban for it. The Ministry solicitor managed to make the argument that he couldn’t be trusted around witches either. I won’t say it was a popular decision, but let’s just say that no one ever left their daughters alone in a room with him.”

“All right,” Hermione said. “And?”

“Well, the watch is a Rowle heirloom,” Draco said. “Apparently Philo Rowle took it out of his vault right after the trial, which he was stupid enough to do with Sabine Avery with him. They were engaged, but she broke it off last year. My mother got Hestia Carrow and Julia Parkinson to see what they could get out of him after a few too many glasses of scotch last night.” He glanced at the letter again. “Young, pretty women saying horrible things about muggles and talking about how Beatrix Ryan is a blood traitor, who could resist?”

“Why would they do that?” Hermione said, quietly. “Ask questions, I mean.”

“I told you, they’re livid about Peter,” Draco said. “And Beatrix is a Parkinson. They may not approve of her job all that much, but blood is thicker than Ministry ink, apparently. Everything sealed is sworn testimony. My father about the watch, Sabine about the vault, Julia and Hestia about what he was… bragging about. They’re not sure if he did it alone or if anyone else in the family was involved, but Potter ought to be able to drag that out of him. Dementor here, dementor there, you learn things.”

“I don’t think I understand why they’d turn him over,” Hermione said. “I thought purebloods tended to take care of things themselves.”

“The Parkinsons are siding with family,” Draco said. “The Carrows won’t put a toe out of line since the war, they’d rather someone else get their hands dirty, and I don’t think there’s any love lost between Rowle and Avery. It’s more of an embarrassment if he gets dragged before the Ministry than if they kill him themselves. They’re sending a message that they won’t tolerate anyone who breaks faith. All they want in exchange is a promise that Potter will charge Rowle regarding Peter. I can’t think he’s going to object to putting up charges on the basis of the fact that the Slytherins were nearly passing around a cursed object at breakfast. He could probably claim the entire house was in mortal peril if he felt like it.”

“They’re helping because of the Selwyns and Beatrix,” Hermione said, slowly.

“I’m not sure about my parents,” Draco said. “They’re not particularly close to anyone involved. I can’t see why on earth my mother would be spearheading the whole effort.”

“That one’s obvious,” Hermione said.

“It is?” Draco said.

“You asked,” Hermione said.

“I suppose that’s true,” Draco said, after a moment.

“I’m going to spend the next fifteen minutes thinking charitable thoughts about your parents, and then I’m never doing it again,” Hermione said. She came to squeeze his shoulder. “I’ll get the second years started if you go owl that mess to Harry. Why’d they send it to you, anyway?”

“Please, Malfoys don’t owl things to the Ministry,” Draco said, amused. “But I’m a Hogwarts professor, I can get away with it without losing any face. It might be curriculum related or some letters of recommendation, you never know.”

“I’m grateful,” Hermione said. “Really, I am. But I really think I’m never going to understand these people.”

“Probably not,” Draco said. “We’re doing a draught of distraction, by the way. They need to dice the dried pansies, not pulverize them.”

“No promises, but I’ll see what I can do,” Hermione said. She stopped, then turned around on her way out the door and went back to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for thinking to ask them.”

“I was happy to,” Draco said. He lifted a hand to the back of his neck, then dropped it again, looking a little lost.

“I’d better go watch the second years,” Hermione said, with a smile. “See you when you get down there?”

“See you,” Draco said.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry sent what was presumably a rather nice bottle of scotch, based on Draco’s reaction, and didn’t say a single insulting thing for three owls in a row. Hermione and Draco both sent owls with testimony, although Harry said he might need them to come to London once everything was said and done. She was very glad when the end of term finally arrived, partially because she desperately needed a break and partially because she was very ready for Draco to stop complaining about worthless student essays.

The last week before break had always been her favorite time of year at Hogwarts; she got a lot of presents, some of which were hideous but all of which were well-meant, and she’d grown to like the Yule ball. Rory brought her a poinsettia and asked her, as was traditional, and she gave him a scarf and turned him down in favor of going with Harry, which was also traditional. It was nice and fairly easy and everyone usually managed to stay out of any sort of real trouble other than sneaking off in pairs. It meant that she could actually have most of a night off, although managing Harry sometimes felt like a job in and of itself.

“Why did I agree to come to this again?” Harry mused. “And why is there never any alcohol?”

“Because if I go without a date, the whole castle loses their minds with gossip and I have to spend the night dancing with every single male student instead of watching awkward teenagers,” she said. “They’re used to you coming with me at this point. Besides, you wouldn’t be getting any of my excellent scotch later if you weren’t here.”

“But I can have the scotch whenever I want,” Harry said. “There’s really no need for me to go through the torture of the Yule Ball.”

“Want me to skip the Ministry holiday party?” Hermione said, mildly. “That could be arranged.”

“At least the Ministry holiday party usually has vodka,” Harry said. “And there aren’t any teenagers.”

“I might suddenly be busy Saturday night,” Hermione said. “How many people did you say have asked you again? It would be so convenient for one of them if you didn’t have a date.”

“I can’t decide whether being asked out by my employees is better or worse than being asked to dance by teenage girls on dares,” Harry said.

“Worse, you can say no to the teenage girls,” Hermione said. “Well, maybe not this one.”

“Hi, Dr. Granger,” Lena said. “Er, Harry. You did say I should, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Harry said. “Thank you for not calling me Auror Potter or something.”

“I had some questions about my classes for next spring, Professor Malfoy said I could maybe get in on fifth year potions since I’ve been doing catch up work,” she said. “And I’d just sit over here and ask you, but if you’ll dance with me, it’ll probably make Peter’s head come off.” She looked vaguely unrepentant. “I think the neckline on this dress and spending the entire night dancing with other people ought to do it, especially if one of those people is you. I put up a poster in my room, he’s already jealous.”

“Just to clarify, you want to dance with me to hack off your boyfriend?” Harry said. “And you’ve got a poster of me in your bedroom? Is this a thing?”

“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend,” Lena said. “Yet.”

Hermione was trying and failing not to laugh. “You can’t really fault her methods,” she said. “Although I think Peter might be a little doomed.”

“I was under the impression teenage boys usually didn’t mind being doomed so long as it involved sex,” Lena said.

Harry spit out his drink.

“If you won’t talk about that ever again, I’ll dance with you,” he finally managed.

“Only classes,” she said. “Cross my heart.”

“Oh, go on,” Hermione said. “Peter will probably thank you later.”

“I’m only doing this because I want to poach you from all the other departments,” Harry informed her. “I will be tremendously disappointed if you waste all your potential on Games and Sports.”

“Not likely,” Lena said, offering him a hand. “Come on, I like this song.”

“Save me,” Harry mouthed over his shoulder at her, but he let Lena lead him out onto the dance floor.

A few minutes later, Draco dropped into Harry’s chair. “What’s going on with that?” he said. “He’s been turning people down all night except you and McGonagall.”

“She wanted to talk about classes,” she said. “Also, Peter is utterly fucked with that one.”

“Both literally and figuratively, really,” Draco said. “Want to dance?”

“I just took my shoes off,” Hermione said, making a face.

“Excellent, you’ll actually be able to move,” Draco said. “I have it on decent authority that they’re going to throw a waltz in here somewhere, we’ll be able to show everyone up.”

“By which you mean everyone is going to take a convenient break,” Hermione said.

“Oh, the Slytherins won’t,” Draco said. “We were all indoctrinated at a young age.”

“The things I do for you,” Hermione said, standing up. “If you step on my toes, you ought to be aware that I know the killing curse.”

“I’m a Malfoy,” he said, giving her an amused look. “If I stepped on your toes, I’d off myself before you ever got around to it.”

“My good deed for the night is done, but Malfoy is in my chair and there still isn’t any alcohol,” Harry said. “I hate Slytherins.”

“Oh, quit complaining,” Draco said, reaching into a previously hidden pocket and tossing him a flask. “I was already getting up.”

“Apparently I’ve got to go do a waltz,” Hermione said, standing. “Don’t ask me how that happened.”

“Your funeral,” Harry said. “I’m going to be here with Malfoy’s alcohol.”

“You are quite possibly the worst date ever,” Hermione informed him.

“Hey, you asked me,” Harry said. “Actually, you keep asking me. You should know better. This was bad enough when it was every four years.”

“Some of us like balls,” Hermione said.

“And there we go,” Draco said. “Come on, Hermione.” He held out a hand.

“Told you there was going to be a mass exodus,” she said; he’d been right that plenty of people were staying, but it was certainly fewer than there were before.

“Apparently Gryffindors don’t know how to dance,” Draco said.

“What’s this one again – quick, quick, slow?” Hermione joked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He settled his palm on her back, taking her other hand.

“Have I mentioned I like that dress?” he said. “One, two –“

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Hermione said, following his lead.

“I like to think so,” he agreed. “Ready?”

She spun out, then back in again, closer this time. Draco was watching her, surprisingly unreadable; she was reminded again that these days, she could usually read his face.

“So am I performing adequately for a Gryffindor?” she murmured.

“You will be if you stop talking,” Draco said. He spun her out again and drew her back against his chest. He was warm and solid behind her.

He was easy to dance with, far easier than Harry, who was forever stepping in the wrong direction. She’d thought for a moment that she’d have been better off in her heels with the height difference, but Draco was making it work. Hermione realized he’d sped up, apparently no longer concerned that she couldn’t keep up, and then she didn’t have time to think about anything but moving with him.

She wasn’t entirely used to having Draco’s entire intense focus on her, but she found she didn’t entirely want to break away from it. He had a look in his eyes that she didn’t entirely understand, and he’d drawn her a little closer with every spin, until she could feel him breathing. He glanced, almost imperceptibly, at her mouth, and Hermione felt her heartbeat pick up. Draco lifted her into the first spin, and for a moment, their faces were much closer together.

_Oh, no_ , Hermione thought. She suddenly felt the weight of emotion come crashing down on her. 

_I can’t possibly_ , she thought, but he lifted her again and there was really no denying that she did.

The worst part was that she couldn’t tell what he was thinking or feeling, just that his eyes were darker than usual and that he was utterly intent on her. Then again, she supposed that Draco probably took dancing as seriously as he did everything else. She went through the motions, trying not to think about anything, but dancing felt like every time they’d cast magic together, all the times she’d let him in without realizing what she was doing. He dipped her and she was grateful for the fact that he was holding her up, because otherwise –

The song ended and Draco stepped back as gracefully as he’d done everything else.

Hermione abruptly realized that people were clapping; it wasn’t unusual for one of the more elegant, challenging dances, but she somehow knew that most of the eyes in the room were on them.

“And to think, I didn’t even need shoes,” she said, lightly. He let go of her with a bow.

“That was surprisingly tolerable for a Gryffindor,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Damning me with faint praise,” Hermione said, but she was smiling. “I’m going to go make sure Harry hasn’t run away.”

“He’s still over there,” Draco said. “Do you want to come by for a drink later? You can bring him if he behaves himself.”

“That’s not very likely, he never does,” Hermione said. “But sure, I’ll see you.”

She made her way back to her seat, still dimly aware that the students were watching her.

“Did I know you could do that?” Harry said.

“That’s what happens when I’ve got a decent partner,” Hermione said, sinking into her chair. “You should try it sometime. It was nice.”

“It was… something,” Harry said. She was starting to get tired of people staring at her, and now Harry was staring too.

“Give me that,” she said, gesturing for the flask.

“One dance with Malfoy and you’re suddenly abandoning all your principles?” Harry said, dryly. “I really do have to try that.”

“I’m sure he’d be happy to dance with you,” she said. “I think he’s over there talking to Flitwick, you should go ask.”

“I suddenly feel like I should take my obligations as your date seriously,” Harry said. “You’d probably feel very abandoned if I left you here to go dance with Malfoy.”

“Oh, now you care,” Hermione said.

“Absolutely,” Harry said. “In fact, I care so much that I’ll even go get you some punch.”

It was exceedingly late by the time that all of the students had been rounded up, retrieved from snogging behind the greenhouses, and packed off to bed. The logical thing, Hermione thought, was probably to go to bed too, but for once, logic wasn’t winning out.

Draco’s portrait was home for once, so she stood waiting in the hall for a moment before she retrieved him and he opened the frame. It was strange not to knock.

“Hi,” she said. 

“No Potter?” he said. He hadn’t changed either, though he’d taken off his outer robes and his shirt was undone at the collar.

“He begged off,” Hermione said. “Something about not wanting to spend more time with you than absolutely necessary.”

“Good, I was regretting the offer,” Draco said. “I’d have had to share the whiskey.”

“Oh, well,” Hermione said, holding up a bottle. “Luckily for you I’ve brought the good stuff.”

“Why, Granger, I never,” he said, with a grin. “Who’d have thought you of all people would have excellent taste in scotch?”

“I don’t,” Hermione said, laughing. She followed him in. “Harry said that was a good bottle. You seemed to like the last one he sent.”

“Oh, this is from the parental gift stores,” Draco said. “You weren’t wrong about that, by the way, half my office is filled with Christmas gifts. I’m never going to need to buy green jumpers or ties again.”

“I’ve got this brilliant thank you note spell,” Hermione said. “They’ll all think you’re exceptionally polite.”

“No, I’m sending notes in February,” Draco said. “I’m going to apologize profusely for being so incredibly busy taking care of their children. I figure if I play the sympathy card, I too can have more liquor than I could ever drink.”

“Damn, I’ll have to try that next year,” Hermione said.

“Do you want some of this?” Draco said.

“Wine, please,” Hermione said. “I’ve got to be up early to pack and make sure everyone catches the train.”

“Always in moderation,” Draco said, sounding amused. “One of these days I’m going to find out what you’re like drunk.”

“Overly affectionate and given to reciting large portions of textbooks,” she said. “Harry claims if you get me drunk enough I stop the second bit, but given that I can never remember that part, I wouldn’t know.”

“That almost sounds charming,” Draco said, handing her a class of red.

“Emphasis on almost,” Hermione said.

“Remind me again where you’re going to be Christmas morning?” Draco said. “I have to admit I’m a little confused on the whole roaming caravan holiday thing.”

“Hah,” Hermione said. “With the Weasleys, everyone usually comes to the Burrow these days. Harry and I always do Christmas Eve together at his flat, though.”

“Isn’t that awkward?” Draco said. “The Weasley part of the equation, I mean.”

“Not really,” Hermione said. “It’s Christmas.” She was looking into her wine glass, trying not to think particularly hard about anything. “Honestly, I wish we could pull off Christmas the rest of the year, we all pretend it’s perfectly fine for Harry’s sake and it works somehow.”

“You could, I don’t know,” Draco said. “Talk to him? I mean, if Potter and I haven’t killed one another yet, there’s probably hope for anything.”

“Maybe,” Hermione said. “I miss it being the three of us against the world. But it’s harder when there isn’t any more of the ‘against the world’ bit. We’re different people. We live very different lives. But Christmas has always been… I don’t know, we just manage somehow.”

“Better you than me,” Draco said. “Although I’ve got exceedingly boring dinner parties and sleeping in my childhood bedroom to look forward to, I can’t really throw stones.”

It was still hard to imagine Draco celebrating Christmas with Lucius and Narcissa.

“I just needed to know where to send the owl with your gift,” Draco continued. “You’re staying at Potter’s, aren’t you?”

“You got me something?” Hermione said, surprised.

“Of course I did,” Draco said. “Why, didn’t you?”

“Your present’s coming back with me from London,” Hermione said. “The hardship of living in the middle of Scotland unless you want to give sweets or gag gifts.”

“I’ve got to go to London for yours too,” Draco said. “Which is why you can’t have it tonight.”

“We could just exchange gifts when we get back,” Hermione offered.

“That,” Draco said, stepping over to refill her glass, “would be an excellent idea for someone who isn’t me.” He smiled, and he was close enough that her stomach turned over. She stopped herself from catching her breath. “I thought we were clear on the part where I don’t do things halfway and like traditions.”

“I should have known that would apply to Christmas presents,” Hermione said.

“I forgot to ask,” he said. “Are you still at Potter’s for New Year’s?”

“I’ll be here, actually,” Hermione said. “I don’t want to ask anyone from Mungo’s to cover me for more than one holiday, especially not this year. Sometimes Harry comes back with me, he usually trades off between me and Ron, but it’s Ron’s year.”

“What, by yourself in the castle?” Draco said. “That hardly seems like any fun.”

“I don’t mind,” she said. “It’s peaceful, really.” She smiled. “Last year it snowed.”

“In that case, maybe I’ll come back early,” Draco said. “God knows I’m going to be exceptionally tired of my parents and the endless stuffy relatives by then.” He rolled his eyes. “And the similarly endless attempts at arranging a marriage, I could live without those.”

“Do you ever think about it?” Hermione said. “You’re sort of the heir to all that.”

“Maybe someday if it comes down to it,” Draco said. “But I’m trying to live my own life. I like to entertain the prospect that I might want to marry someone because I love them, not because some inheritance contract stipulates something.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, startled.

“What, that’s so inconceivable?” Draco said.

“No, I just hadn’t thought,” Hermione said, and it was true, although if she was completely honest with herself, it was because she hadn’t particularly wanted to think about the complexities of Draco’s world.

“What about you?” Draco said. “Still insisting you’re not going to run off with Potter at some point?”

“Would you stop with that?” Hermione said, laughing. “He’s my best friend and my family and I’d also sooner fling myself in front of the Hogwarts Express. You try living with him.”

“So not that, then,” Draco said.

“No,” Hermione agreed. “I don’t know. Maybe something will happen someday, maybe it won’t.” She smiled. “Maybe I’m secretly pining for Rory, you never know.”

“There you go,” Draco said. “You take him, I’ll take – what’s her face, you know. The Ravenclaw who doesn’t have any classes with me.”

“Oh, the president of your fan club,” Hermione said. “Emeline.” 

“Her,” Draco said. “I’m purposefully not remembering her name so that every time she runs into me in the hallway and drops all her books I can pretend I haven’t the faintest idea who she is.”

“That sounds like an excellent basis for a marriage,” Hermione said. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”

“At least Locke’s got some foundation for the whole thing,” Draco said.

“He hasn’t, really,” Hermione said. “I’m easy because he can’t have me. I’m sort of convenient when you want someone else but you don’t want to let on.”

“Lena?” Draco said, then considered. “Oh. That kind of wanting someone else.”

“I’m a little worried about him,” Hermione admitted. “But I suppose the whole thing isn’t forever.”

“He’ll be all right,” Draco said.

“I know,” Hermione said, with a smile. “It’s my job, you know.”

“Well, by all means, then,” Draco said.

“Speaking of my job, I think I’d better get to bed,” Hermione said. “Tomorrow’s going to be an absolute delight.”

“Well, have a safe trip,” Draco said, then stepped forward, pulling her into a sudden hug. “Merry Christmas, Hermione.”

“You’re going to spill my wine,” she said, brightly, standing to kiss his cheek. “But Merry Christmas to you too.”

The afternoon train ride to London seemed, somehow, longer and far worse than usual; Hermione had to split up two fights and take so many House points she lost count. Harry was, for once, almost helpful, and he even carried her suitcase. Hermione thought it was probably for the best given that she felt so exhausted she could hardly think.

“I’m going to go get something to eat,” Harry said. “Chinese? Indian? Thai?” He grinned. “You’re going to tell me to find literally anything you can’t get at Hogwarts, aren’t you.”

“I don’t actually care,” Hermione agreed. “I’m going to get the Christmas tree up.”

It was stupid, maybe, but Harry always got a tree and they always decorated it. Harry had ornaments from the Ministry and that he’d bought over the years when he was traveling, and she had all her favorites from students. She had a lot, mostly because they were something you could pick up in Hogsmeade and then spell to your liking, but she was grateful for all of them. She started with a garland spell and when Harry came back, she was trying to get ornaments on the far side of the tree.

“You know,” he said, a few minutes later, “you’ve put that one on and taken it off in the same spot four times, something on your mind?”

“It’s not the same spot, it’s up and to the right,” Hermione said, scowling at it. “It doesn’t look right.”

“That detail aside,” Harry said, coming to take it from her. He put it on a completely different branch and it somehow worked perfectly well there. “Come have something to eat. We always do the ornaments together anyway.”

“Yes, and we always end up with a stupidly lopsided tree,” Hermione said, but she stepped down off the ladder.

“I happen to like our lopsided trees,” Harry said. He pulled her into a hug, resting his chin on the top of her head, and she gave in and buried her face in his stupid Weasley Christmas jumper. She had no idea why he still insisted on wearing them. She felt sort of acutely miserable.

“Want to talk about it?” Harry said.

“There isn’t anything to talk about,” Hermione said, firmly.

“I’ve known you for nearly twenty years, you’re not that good a liar,” Harry said, looking amused. “In fact, you’re an utterly rubbish liar.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Hermione amended.

“Still lying, but I value my life so you can eat first,” Harry said. He’d gotten Chinese.

“That’s generous,” she said, flopping down onto the sofa. She found some fried rice and started eating it, although she wasn’t entirely hungry.

“So,” Harry said, a few minutes later. “Does the thing we’re not talking about have something to do with Malfoy?”

“No,” Hermione said. “It doesn’t. I’m just – I don’t know. Preoccupied with the students.”

“And I’m the Minister of Magic,” Harry said, dryly. “Wait, no, I take that back, I’ll jinx myself and then it might actually happen somehow.”

“We both know it’s inevitable,” Hermione said, but he’d managed to get a smile out of her. “Unless you want to come be apolitical at Hogwarts with me.”

“I’d like nothing better, but we both know I’ve got to stay here,” Harry said. He finished off whatever he’d been eating and went to lie under the Christmas tree. She realized a moment later that he was casting fairy lights all over it.

“I know,” Hermione said. “You’re better than I expected about managing enormous groups of people.”

“Don’t remind me,” Harry said. He wriggled slightly further under the tree. “Did you sleep together? I’m not going to be mad about it or anything.”

“Did who –“ Hermione paused. “ _No_. Absolutely not.”

“Well, there goes that theory,” Harry said.

“Did you just say you wouldn’t be mad if I slept with Draco Malfoy, Harry?” Hermione said. “Did one of the trunks on the train fall and hit you over the head?”

“No,” Harry said. “I still can’t stand Malfoy. But you seem to like him.”

“We’re friends,” Hermione said. “You’re supposed to like your friends.”

“Oh, blow this for a game of soldiers,” Harry said, crawling back out. He was covered in pine needles, which he spelled back to the tree, looking irritated.

“You know I’m not going to let you get away with only doing the bottom half of the lights,” Hermione said.

“You know I’m not going to let you get away with being sulky and not saying anything,” Harry countered. He sat next to her on the couch, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “But you can have eggnog first if you want. I will even be so generous as to put decent alcohol in it despite the fact that you’ve got no taste.”

“There isn’t anything to talk about,” Hermione said, but she leaned closer.

“Is that the problem?” Harry said.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe. Quit reading too much into it, you’re supposed to be awful at this sort of thing.” 

“You know, I really don’t like him,” Harry said. “And if you’d told me six months ago I’d be telling you to get it together and be with him if you want to, I’d have laughed myself sick then hexed you. But I think…” He considered. “I’ve never met anyone who was in the same league as you. I always thought you’d get bored. You were very bored with Ron.”

“I don’t think Ron and I worked on any level but friendship once you took proximity out of the equation,” Hermione said.

“Well, Malfoy’s as smart as you are,” Harry said. “And if I didn’t hate him, I’d almost say he was funny and vaguely charming in a horrendous Slytherin sort of way.”

“Careful, you’re about to trip and fall and start shagging,” Hermione said. “Or the world’s about to end from you saying multiple nice things about Draco in a row.”

“Stop trying to duck out of this conversation,” he said. “I’d hate it, but you should see the way he looks at you when he doesn’t think anyone else is watching. I’m willing to shut up about how awful he is if it means you can have that.”

“I don’t think I can,” Hermione said, finally. “For a lot of reasons.”

“Dunno, maybe you ought to give him a chance to weigh in on that before you make your mind up,” Harry said.

“You grew up while I wasn’t looking,” Hermione said, finally. “Who’d have thought.”

“I’ll have you know my favorite things are still Quidditch and chocolate frogs,” Harry said, with a smile. “Don’t get too carried away with that idea. Well, and you being happy.” He kissed her forehead. “I like you being happy.”

They got the tree decorated and spent the next night at the Ministry party; being Harry’s date involved a lot of circulating and talking with complete strangers, but the open bar helped. And Christmas eve was still her favorite holiday, with no one to bother impressing and Harry recounting ridiculous work stories and having a little – all right, a lot – too much alcohol.

Christmas turned out surprisingly well too.

“Oy, Harry and Hermione are here,” Charlie yelled up the staircase when they showed up. Even rebuilt, the Burrow was still… precarious.

“We can’t open the presents until you all get down here and I’m tired of waiting,” Victorie yelled after him.

“Quit giving her bad ideas and teaching her rotten manners,” Molly said, coming over to the doorway and hugging them both.

“Okay, okay,” Ginny said. “Dean’s right behind me, he’s just brushing his teeth with Emma. Hi, guys.”

Harry and Ginny had always gotten along significantly better than she and Ron had; Hermione figured it was probably a consequence of not trying to draw out a relationship that wasn’t a particularly good fit. Ginny getting married a few years later had probably given them a decent sort of closure.

“Merry Christmas,” Harry said, leaning to hug her.

“Don’t squash the baby, she’ll wake up,” Ginny said. “Merry Christmas, Harry.”

“What, she’s going to sleep through her first Christmas?” Harry said, with a grin. “We’ll have none of that.”

“It’s that or scream through her first Christmas,” Ginny said. She looked exhausted but happy. “She’s a menace and wants to make sure we all know it.”

“Just give her to Fleur,” Dean said, coming down the stairs with Emma on his shoulders. “She actually likes the baby, unlike the rest of us.” He grinned. “Hi, Harry. Hermione.”

“Fred, if you slide down the bannister again, I’m going to –“ Angelina was still in pajamas, yawning. “Merry Christmas.”

“You’re going to… Merry Christmas?” Victorie said, doing her best to look innocent.

“Just because you inherited your father’s sense of humor doesn’t mean you’re funny,” Angelina said, but she was laughing. She turned to look at the staircase, where Fred was triumphantly jumping off the end of the bannister.

“You can’t do anything to me, mum, it’s Christmas,” he said. “I know the rules.”

“I need coffee,” Angelina said. “Possibly a new child. Who wants to trade?”

“Done,” Ginny said. “I haven’t slept in three months.”

“Maybe not that one,” Angelina said. “Although it’s a bit of a toss-up, really.”

“Ron just went to meet you,” Molly said. “That doesn’t seem to have worked out.”

“I think I went to the wrong side of the bloody field, mum,” Ron called. He was in the doorway, charming snow off his boots.

“I mean, we’ve only been Apparating here for years,” Hermione said. “Who wouldn’t make that mistake?”

“Oh, shut up,” Ron said, coming over to hug her. He picked her up off the ground, spinning her around with a grin.

“Merry Christmas,” Hermione said.

“You too,” he said. “I’m happy to see you.” He seemed sincere.

“What does a bloke have to do to get something to eat around here?” Harry said.

“Oh, Harry, dear, of course we’ve got breakfast for you,” Molly said, patting his shoulder. “And you wore your jumper!”

“I’m going to die of old age before we get to the presents,” Dominique announced, with a sigh.

“I’m going to die of starvation way sooner,” Harry said. “But I bet you could do stockings while the rest of us eat.

“There’s an idea,” Dean said.

“Absolutely, stockings, go for it,” said Bill, who was still yawning. “But you have to help Emma.”

“Speaking of presents, Hermione, you got an owl with a box,” Charlie said. “She’s eating all the bacon.”

“And I’m about to go hex an owl, apparently,” Bill said.

“Oh, who from?” Ginny said.

“Probably Malfoy,” Harry said.

“ _Malfoy_?” Ron said. “What the hell’s he doing sending Hermione Christmas presents?”

“I’m sure he sent things to everyone,” Hermione said, firmly. “We’re coworkers. I got him a scarf.”

Harry knew perfectly well that she hadn’t gotten Malfoy a scarf, since his present was currently asleep on Harry’s bed.

“He’s not that bad,” Harry said. He paused at the look on Ron’s face. “And by not that bad, I mean he’s still awful, but at least he can teach potions.”

“I still like him,” Bill said. “He’s all right these days. Not an enormous prick anymore.”

“Children, Bill,” Molly hissed.

“Er, not an enormous jerk, I meant,” Bill said. “Although if you think my kids haven’t learned how to swear in English and French, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Sadly, he is right,” Fleur said. She was making eggs and looked rather cheerful; she claimed veela didn’t get morning sickness. Hermione thought if she said it in front of Ginny again, she was liable to end up in a duel.

“Well?” Ginny said. “Are you going to open it or not?”

It was a very nicely wrapped box, and there was a fancy looking note. Hermione opened it.

_Granger,_

_Thank you for taking excellent care of the students. Merry Christmas._

_Sincerely,  
Draco Malfoy_

She had to fight hard not to laugh, especially when she opened it, revealing a very tasteful and expensive looking red jumper. Everyone looked vaguely disappointed. She wasn’t sure exactly what they’d been expecting. Possibly cursed jewelry.

“Oh, that’s nice, dear,” Molly said. “What a… thoughtful gift.”

“Give that here,” Ginny said, swiping the note. She read it. “Well, he’s still obnoxious.” She glanced at the box. “Guess we can’t fault his taste in jumpers, though.”

“Huh,” Bill said. “Would’ve thought he’d have sent something a little more personal.”

“It’s Malfoy,” Ron said. “Why on earth would he be sending Hermione a personal present?”

“Oh, you know,” Bill said. Hermione shook her head at him. “They work together more than he does with the other professors. All the… potions.”

“It’s a very nice jumper,” Hermione said. “Really. Now, is there any bacon left?”

It was loud and crowded and by the time Christmas dinner was over, Hermione was exceedingly ready to go home, but she had to admit that she was happier than she’d been in a while.

“Hey,” Ron said, while Harry was attempting to put on his coat with Dominique hanging off one leg. “Got a minute?”

“Sure,” Hermione said. “I don’t think Harry’s escaping them any time soon.”

“I was thinking I might take the train up some time” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe, you know, stay for the weekend. I know Harry comes up to see you all the time, I thought maybe I could tag along.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, a little startled. “Of course you should come.”

“Parvati says I’ve been monumentally stupid about some things,” Ron said. He still wasn’t looking at her. “And I thought about it and maybe she’s right, so I’m sorry. I’d like to… try to be better if you’ll have me.”

“You’d better marry that woman,” Hermione said, reaching to hug him. “I’m going to be very disappointed if you don’t.”

“Yeah, yeah, everyone’s already after me about that,” Ron said. “And apparently mum doesn’t have enough grandchildren.” He looked at Harry with a grin. “A problem that neither of you are doing anything about. You should try carrying your weight sometime.”

“Nope,” Harry said. “Not a chance in –“ He looked at Dominique. “In a hundred years.”

“I know what you were going to say, Uncle Harry,” she said. “But don’t worry, I won’t tell Gram.”

“I knew you were my favorite for a reason,” Harry said, ruffling her hair. “Go on then.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Ron said. “To the right place this time, even.”

When they got back to the flat, Harry collapsed on the couch. “If I ever so much as think about having a single kid,” he said, “hit me over the head repeatedly.”

“Oh, you like them,” Hermione said. “I have it on good authority that you even held Abby for a while.”

“She can’t talk,” Harry said. “And if she starts crying, I can just give her to back to Ginny or Dean.”

“It’s sort of funny with all the girls,” Hermione said. “Fred’s pretty outnumbered. Fleur says she thinks she’s having a boy, though.”

“Oh, good, bringing the grand total to two,” Harry said, laughing. “Maybe Ron and Parvati can get in on it.”

Hermione stretched out on the sofa next to him. “Weird, isn’t it? Thinking about any of us having kids?”

“Very,” Harry said. “But she makes him happy and he’s always wanted them, so I guess it’s just the way it goes.”

Draco’s Christmas present, who was currently nameless, leapt into her lap. Crookshanks was still hiding under the bed in outrage. She rubbed behind her ears. Harry reached to pet her too, and she started to purr.

“He didn’t actually get you a jumper, did he?” Harry said.

“That was definitely a joke,” Hermione said. She smiled before she could think to stop herself.

“Well, we’ll see what turns up,” Harry said, with a yawn. “Want to play some chess?”

They were arguing an hour later about whether a move had been legal – Harry’s rook claimed it was by the book, Hermione thought he was making it up – when there was a tap at the window. It was one of the Malfoys’ grey owls, enormous on the windowsill.

“Told you,” Harry said. He stood up, going to the windowsill to untie the box. It was much smaller than the one she’d gotten that morning. “I’ve got some mice in the fridge, if you hold on, I’ll get you some.”

The owl made a sound that Hermione assumed was agreement, although he stayed on the ledge outside.

“Here you go,” Harry said. She gulped the mouse and took off before Hermione could think of sending a note back.

“Very Malfoy,” Harry said, dryly. “Bet they’re all like that. Who has a matched set of owls, anyway?”

“What, getting regular correspondence from the Manor?” Hermione said.

“I’ve seen Malfoy get letters,” Harry said. “They’ve got at least three that look like that. Are you going to open it?”

“If you stop hovering,” Hermione said. She unrolled the note.

_Hermione,_

_Happy Christmas. Enjoy your real present._

_Yours,  
Draco_

_P.S. Tell Potter the owl couldn’t carry an adequate amount of coal, so I’ve skipped his gift this year._

“He’s not really one for words, is he?” Harry said, looking over her shoulder.

“Not when it comes to letters,” Hermione said. She unwrapped the box, opening the jewelry case. It was a necklace with a tiny glass ball in a silver filigree diamond cage. When she looked more closely, she realized that the ball was full of white mist, turning slowly inside it. It wasn’t what she’d expected, but it was very beautiful.

“Dunno,” Harry said. He sounded a little doubtful. “It’s nice, I guess.”

“He’s a Malfoy, jewelry’s probably traditional,” Hermione said. She picked it up. “Here, can you do the clasp?”

“Sure,” Harry said, but the moment he did it, she suddenly could _feel_ Draco’s magic. It was cool and calm, with a current of amusement underneath it, and it felt like a lot of things she couldn’t quite give name to, like the Forbidden Forest at night in winter and the cathedral ceilings of Draco’s rooms. It was cool, but she could feel something around the edges, like looking out at the lights in the lake at night, something about herself. It felt sly and subtle but fiercely protective at the same time.

“Oh!” she said. “I think I know what this is. Touch it, will you?”

“Er, okay,” Harry said, and then she could feel him: enthusiasm and sunlight and an endless affection for her that had become so integral to who he was that it had seeped into his magic.

“Well?” Harry said. The sensation faded some, although she could still feel it.

“It’s really old magic,” she said. “It’s sort of like if you could touch a Patronus. It lets you feel the magic of whomever has touched it last.”

“That’s interesting, I suppose,” Harry said. “If you’re weirdly academic like you two.”

“It’s not academic at all,” she said. “These used to be engagement gifts before couples were allowed to touch each other. You can’t hide anything in your magic, not really. So it’s a show of good faith to let someone else see it.”

“Trust Malfoy to give you an engagement gift before he’s gotten around to asking you on a date,” Harry said.

“I don’t think that’s it, exactly,” she said. She didn’t mind that it felt like Harry, but she wished she’d thought to spend more time exploring Draco’s magic first.

“If you get it, I don’t need to,” Harry said. “Now find the bloody rule book so we can get on with this.”

Politics and law enforcement waited for no one, which meant that Harry had to go back to work. Hermione took the train back to Hogwarts after Boxing Day. It was nice, in a way, to have time to read the books everyone had given her and to catch up on the journal articles she never had time to get to during the semester. She even read some of it to Thomas, although he wasn’t showing any signs of waking up yet. She’d managed to get his parents to go home for Rory’s sake, since he was used to spending holidays with them. She’d thought it might be good for all of them to spend less time sitting around the infirmary. She was glad to have room to get things done. But the castle was deserted and it was a little… lonely.

On New Year’s Eve, she’d considered going with Neville and Hannah to the party at the pub, but she didn’t really feel like dealing with the inevitable crowd. And, if she was totally honest, she’d been hoping Draco would come back, but the afternoon train had come and gone. There wasn’t really anyone else she wanted to spend New Year’s with other than Harry, who was presumably off doing something ridiculous with Ron. She had a mug of mulled wine, a perfectly good book, and two cats curled up with her on the couch. Crookshanks had apparently decided the interloper wasn’t entirely without merit and was busy grooming her face.

“Malfoy’s at the door,” her lamia said, sounding bored. Hermione did her best not to knock the cats off the couch or to run to the portrait.

“Hi,” Draco said. He was smiling. “Sorry I’m late, the one o’clock train left early and I missed it.”

“That’s all right,” Hermione said, smiling back. “I’m glad I didn’t go to the tavern.”

“You and me both, then I’d have had to walk down there,” Draco said. “And it’s starting to snow hard.”

“How was Christmas?” she said, holding open the portrait.

“Oh, you know,” Draco said. “Boring. As full of horrible relatives and marriage suggestions as I was expecting. Actually, as a bonus, this year some of the marriage suggestions came from the horrible relatives. It was all quite fun, really. How about yours?”

“Nice,” Hermione said. “Although I still can’t get used to having so many children around at Christmas.” 

“I could go for that,” Draco said. “Mine’s got exactly three people. It’s had exactly three people for the last three decades or so.”

“I guess that’s the benefit of having seven kids,” Hermione said, laughing. “I somehow can’t see Narcissa having gone for that sort of thing.”

“Obviously not,” Draco said. He leaned over the back of his sofa. “Who’s this? Did you decide Crookshanks needed a friend?”

“Not exactly,” Hermione said. “She really needs a new name, Harry’s been calling her ‘Draco’s Christmas present.’”

“You got me a _cat_?” Draco said.

“Well, I’ve got room for a second if you don’t want her,” Hermione said. The cat climbed into his lap, putting her paws on his chest to look at him with her enormous grey eyes. Hermione hadn’t known exactly why she’d felt like this cat was the right one, but then again, she didn’t have a rational explanation for why she’d picked Crookshanks either. “But with the amount of time Crookshanks spends in the dungeons these days, I thought you might be getting used to the company.” She smiled. “He’s been showing her the ropes on where the best mousing spots are.”

“You can’t give me a Christmas present then try to keep it,” Draco said, rubbing under the cat’s chin. “That’s not how it works.”

“I have to warn you, she may be slightly flawed for a Slytherin mascot,” Hermione said. “She likes everyone, especially Harry, and I think she’d sell out Hogwarts for a tin of tuna.”

“That’s all right,” Draco said. She was pushing her head against his hand already. “We’ll teach you decent taste in people, won’t we? You’ve got much better options now than Potter.”

“At the very least she’ll have a better name,” Hermione said. “Want something to drink?”

“Actually, I wasn’t just late because of the train,” Draco said. “You know, neither of us has a decent view, really.”

“I like the lake,” Hermione said.

“We can’t see the fireworks in Hogsmeade from the bottom of the lake,” Draco said. “Anyway, I did something. Come upstairs, and if you hate it we can come back down here.”

“That sounds ominous,” Hermione said, amused, but she went to find her boots. Draco held open her portrait.

“Coming?” he asked the cats. Crookshanks considered, then hopped down, running ahead of them down the hallway. Draco’s cat hopped out the portrait and then waited.

“At least one of you is polite,” Hermione informed her.

“Joke’s on him, he’s got no idea where we’re going,” Draco said. He walked all the way down the corridor, then led her up a flight of stairs that Hermione couldn’t remember using. They seemed to go on forever, until Draco finally opened the door to a hallway that Hermione definitely couldn’t remember being in.

“Where on earth are we?” she said.

“Near the top of the castle,” Draco said. He stopped in front of a door, holding it open.

“Oh,” Hermione said, startled. “Did you find this?”

“I found the room, but it was empty,” Draco said. “I brought up some things from the Room of Requirement.” He laughed softly. “For the record, if you’d suggested I’d ever willingly go back in there, I’d have thought you were utterly insane, but some things are worth it.”

The room had an enormous picture window with uneven panes. She could see the forest and the curve of the lake, the snow falling soft and silent in the dark. The lights of Hogsmeade were dim in the distance. There was a fireplace to one side with wood to spare, and an enormous couch in front of the window. Draco had found blankets and a rug and there were soft globes of light somewhere up near the ceiling.

“I don’t even know what to say,” she said, honestly.

“I felt…” Draco looked as if he was choosing his words carefully. “I’ve spent New Year’s alone a few times. And you tell yourself it’s okay, but it never really is. I thought maybe you’d rather not have another year like that.”

“No,” she said, softly. “But you didn’t have to go to all this trouble, you could have just come back.”

“Come on,” he said. “You’re wasting a perfectly good view of the snow. And I’ve got cider.”

“In that case,” Hermione said, with a smile.

“I take it you figured out what this is,” Draco said, stepping in to brush his thumb against her necklace. She could feel the change in the pit of her stomach, her breath coming a little faster when he smiled.

“I don’t know where you found one of these,” Hermione said. “But I like it. I –“ She didn’t really want to say that she’d missed him, that even a few minutes of feeling like he’d been in the room had meant something. “It was the nicest gift I got. Thank you.”

“It took some digging around my Gringotts vault,” Draco said. “But I wanted you to have it. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said. “I almost preferred the jumper, really. It was a much more practical gift and all.”

“And to think, you get on my case for being smart with you,” Draco said, amused.

“Always,” Hermione agreed.

Draco sat next to her on the couch, wrapping an arm around her, and she leaned her head on his shoulder, watching the snow. She’d watched it snow at Hogwarts hundreds of times, but it never stopped being astonishingly beautiful. The lights slowly flickered out until there was only the fire. It was quiet, but that was what Hermione liked best about Draco: he never made her feel as if she had to fill up the silence.

She couldn’t say how much time had passed, but she heard the bells start to chime and saw the first of the fireworks go off in the distance. Draco had been right; the view was worth the climb.

“Happy New Year,” he murmured, and when she looked at him, she suddenly knew he hadn’t been watching the snow fall.

“Happy New Year,” she said, softly, lifting her head to meet his eyes.

There was a moment, just one, where she thought – but then he turned his head to look out at the fireworks. She put her head back on his shoulder and very nearly missed it when his eyes went back to her.

“Do you ever wonder…” he said.

“Wonder what?” she said.

“If we might, I don’t know,” Draco said. She drew back just enough to look at him.

“Yes,” Hermione said, quietly.

Then he kissed her.

She’d always associated Draco with water, somehow. Maybe it was that she’d spent so much time on the lake with him, or maybe it was that his magic felt like a rip current, like the inevitable pull of the tides. So she let him pull her under, and it was nothing like drowning at all.

His mouth was warm over hers, and he tasted like whiskey, bitter and sharp. It wasn’t how a first kiss was supposed to be, but Hermione didn’t care. All she could think about was getting closer, getting more. She broke the kiss to slide over into his lap, and he looked startled for a moment before he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again. 

It was everything she’d wanted, and she’d wanted it for a long time, longer than she’d ever admitted to herself. But even as he slid his hands down, burning against the small of her back where he was pulling her closer, there was a reason she’d refused to admit it all these months. And as much as she desperately, fiercely wanted it to, that reason wasn’t going to go away.

“Wait,” she said, breathless. “We can’t – we shouldn’t –“ 

It was taking all of her Gryffindor resolve not to kiss him again, but it would be all right this way, she thought. They could still be friends.

“Too fast?” Draco said. His eyes were alight with something she couldn’t quite name. He smiled, and her heart broke a little. “I think we can and we should.” He brushed her hair out of her face. “But maybe get out of my lap if you’d like me to slow down, though, that was all you.”

“No,” she said, softly. “We can’t.”

“Do you… not want to?” Draco said. He suddenly looked unsure, vulnerable, and she didn’t want to lie.

“More than anything,” she admitted. “But I – we’re –“ She closed her eyes. “I can’t sleep with you without it being something more, and we can’t have more.”

“Why would you think that’s all I’m interested in?” Draco said. He sounded startled and hurt. “Hermione, I –“

She didn’t want him to say it, because if he said it, there was really no going back.

“You can’t possibly think we’re suitable for each other,” she said. 

She knew it was the wrong thing the moment it came out of her mouth, but there was no taking it back. She was close enough to watch emotions chase one another across Draco’s face, hurt and grief and shock and then cold, cold fury.

“You don’t believe I’m different at all, do you?” he said. “I’m never going to be able to outrun this. Harry’s right, I was so naïve to think the war might be over.”

“I didn’t mean –“ Hermione said.

“Oh, but you did,” Draco said, shoving her off and standing. “It’s the rest of it you haven’t meant.”

“That’s not true,” Hermione said.

“It’s about the only true thing in here,” he said. He looked furious. “Get out.”

“Draco,” she said.

“Malfoy,” he corrected, coldly. It was if a mask had come down. She couldn’t even see the anger anymore. “Get _out_.”

“If we could just –“ she said.

“Actually, I’ll go,” he said. “Don’t you dare think you still have the right to follow me.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Too late for that,” Draco said, and left. He didn’t even slam the door.

Hermione managed maybe thirty seconds before she started to cry.

She’d spent six years in the castle, and she’d been happy. But it was strange how lonely it had suddenly become. She didn’t see him for the rest of the week, and the few times she’d gone by his hallway, his portrait was empty. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to knock. 

They students came back, but somehow, the castle still felt empty. Her evenings felt too long even with office hours. She lost track of the number of times she turned toward the side of the couch closest to the fire. She’d never minded silence before, but suddenly it was overwhelming. She kept the wireless on in her rooms and talked to the cats in her office, anything to keep away the quiet. She thought about owling Harry about it but didn’t. Somehow, it felt like something she needed to manage alone. It was… bearable, mostly, until she climbed into bed at night and thought of how impossibly far away someone could be even when they were only a few floors down.

A week passed, then two. There were always potions in the infirmary when she needed them, although she really didn’t know how he was keeping track. They’d passed in the hallways a few times, even eaten dinner at the same time once or twice, but Draco turned out to be as exceptional at the Malfoy trick of looking through her without seeing anything as he was at everything else. Hermione thought about trying to talk to him, but she knew, somehow, that there were some things you really couldn’t fix once you had broken them. 

Still, there were some good days.

“Hermione, Hermione!” Rory said, running into her office so quickly he almost slid out on the stone. “You’d better come, I think Thomas is waking up.”

“I’ll be right there,” she said.

She thought, briefly, about sending Rory, but it didn’t seem like the right thing to do. She took the stairs down three at a time – god, why was his portrait never in her frame – and pounded on the edge. It took a minute, but Malfoy finally opened it.

“This had better be a serious emergency,” he said. “I don’t want to see you.”

It was the first time he’d looked her in the face since New Year’s, and Hermione probably wouldn’t have been able to bear the indifference in his eyes under any other circumstances.

“It’s Thomas,” she said. “I thought you’d want to be there.”

“Thank you, I would,” Draco said, finally.

She didn’t have room to care about it, for once, and ran back to the infirmary, not entirely sure if he was following.

Thomas wasn’t awake yet, but his parents were both crowded close to one side of the bed, Rory on the other.

“He opened his eyes a few minutes ago,” Beatrix said. “And your monitoring charms are all suddenly different.”

She was right, they were, and they showed changes in Thomas’s magic that Hermione thought probably meant Rory had been right.

“It might take a while still,” she said. “And he’s probably going to be pretty disoriented when he does wake up. Give him some room.”

Draco had come up behind them, leaning against the far wall. He didn’t say anything, but he smiled at Beatrix. Hermione had missed that smile. She was glad to see it, even if it hadn’t been meant for her.

“I think…“ she said.

“I’m seriously about to use aguamente,” Rory muttered. “How much longer can this possibly take?”

“Don’t you dare,” Thomas said, and opened his eyes.

Rory promptly flung himself at the bed and kissed him.

“God, Locke, I knew you were going to get around to it eventually, but did it have to be before breakfast?” Thomas grumbled, then rubbed his eyes. He blinked a few times when he saw her standing there.

“Rory, did you just kiss me in front of Dr. Granger?” Thomas said, though he didn’t sound particularly upset about it.

“Er, oops,” Rory said.

Thomas looked around. “Mum?” he said. “What –“ Now he did look horrified. “Rory, did you just kiss me in front of my _mother_?”

“Sorry completely not sorry,” Rory said. Draco looked as if he was trying exceptionally hard not to laugh.

“Oh thank god,” his mother said. Hermione was glad to note absolutely no one was paying attention to her instructions to give Thomas space.

“What – why am I in the infirmary?” Thomas said. “Why – wait, stop crying, why are you all crying?” He rubbed his eyes again. “This is the weirdest dream ever.”

“It’s all right,” Hermione said. “There was an accident, but you’re okay now. You’ve been asleep a while.”

“Like I missed breakfast?” Thomas said. “I’m starving.” His mother was still hugging him. He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

“Like you missed seven weeks and four days and thirteen hours,” Rory said.

“ _What_?” Thomas said. 

“I was going to work my way around to that, Rory,” Hermione said.

“You almost died,” Rory said. “Dr. Granger and Professor Malfoy and –“

“And that’s enough for the moment,” Hermione said, flicking a silencing charm at Rory. He tried to finish his sentence, then looked vaguely dismayed.

“We missed you very much,” his dad said. He was crying too.

“Ow,” Thomas said, when Hamish finally got Beatrix out of the way and hugged him tightly.

“I love you,” Beatrix said, leaning to kiss his forehead. “We all love you so much.”

“Okay, okay,” Thomas said. “Stop crying, you’re embarrassing me in front of my professors.” He looked at Rory. “Although I think you took the cake on that one.”

Rory tried to say something, found he couldn’t, and folded his arms. He looked unrepentant.

“Better take it off, he’s just going to try that again,” Thomas said. “Mum, I can explain –“

Beatrix was laughing through her tears. “Don’t bother, love,” she said. “I think everyone saw that coming but Rory.”

“You’re not mad about it?” Thomas said, cautiously.

“You’re awake and talking, we don’t care about a single thing other than that,” Hamish said.

“Anyway, we’d never have been mad about that,” Beatrix said. “But especially not now.”

“I’m still going to yell at you about your terrible timing later, Rory,” Thomas said. “Couldn’t you have just asked me to the stupid Yule Ball?”

Hermione finally gave in and let Rory talk.

“That was weeks ago,” Rory informed him. He looked very happy. “You’re going to yell at me! Because you’re awake!”

“You’re defective,” Thomas informed him.

Malfoy was still lingering against the back wall, though he looked… extraordinarily happy.

“Maybe I ought to get you something to eat,” he said.

“At least one of you is a functional human being,” Thomas said. “Thanks, I could eat a hippogriff.”

“I’ll just give you all a bit,” Hermione said. “Rory, try to keep it together.”

“Not likely,” Thomas said, rolling his eyes. His mother and Rory had already started crying again.

“Damn, I forgot to ask what he wanted,” Draco said.

“Maybe a hippogriff,” Hermione said, before she could stop herself.

He actually laughed, then caught himself. He went back to cool indifference, although Hermione noticed that it had taken him a lot longer to get control of himself this time. It made her think that maybe… maybe there was still something there worth trying to save.

“Listen,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Have you got just five minutes?”

“I’ve got essays to mark,” Draco said.

“Please,” Hermione said, quietly. “Please don’t make me beg.”

He looked at her for a long moment. She hated that she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “All right,” he said. “Tomorrow night. I’ll come by your rooms.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said.

Things didn’t feel quite as hopeless anymore.

Thomas wasn’t ready to leave the infirmary yet, but Rory looked as if there was going to be some sort of mutiny if Hermione tried to make him leave to go to classes.

“I think it’s all right just this once, isn’t it?” Beatrix said. She was looking at where Rory and Thomas had their heads bent together over a card game. “Extraordinary circumstances and all that.”

“He’s not behind in anything since he’s spent the last eight weeks diligently doing homework up here at night so I wouldn’t kick him out,” Hermione said, dryly. “He can stay.”

Thomas had eaten enough dinner and breakfast for about four teenage boys, although Hermione couldn’t entirely blame him. They’d told him what had happened, but it was going to take a while to sink in. She could remember the feeling from when she’d been petrified. It was hard to conceptualize lost time when you hadn’t been the one losing it. Still, she thought he’d probably be ready to go back in a day or two. And he didn’t need watching, which meant her afternoon was free.

After dinner, she left a note on her portrait’s frame.

_Meet me in Greenhouse #7?_

It was an hour or two later when she heard someone come into the dark; the only light was from the dimly glowing many-petalled lantern jasmine and the stars above the panes of glass, although they were somehow brighter than she was used to.

“Granger, it took me significantly longer than five minutes to get down here,” he said, but he stopped short as the door closed behind him.

She was sitting on the edge of one of the ponds; when she trailed her fingers on the water, she could feel the cool stillness. She didn’t want to look up quite yet.

“What did you do?” Draco said.

“You’ve done a lot of things for me,” she said, quietly. “I wanted to do something for you for once. I know you miss Africa.”

Neville had been overly supportive of the idea of moving every single African plant into one greenhouse; he probably didn’t like the current situation any more than she did. He’d even switched out one of the ponds. She’d changed the stars, though. It felt like somewhere very far from home.

“This isn’t going to fix anything,” Draco said, but the tone of his voice had softened.

“No,” she agreed. She closed her eyes. “What I said – it was cruel and small-minded and so incredibly stupid of me. But I need you to believe that I know who you are and that’s exactly who I wanted.” She took another breath, looking at the reflection of an unfamiliar sky in the water. “I can’t be with you, but it’s not because of your history, it’s because of your future.”

He’d come across the greenhouse, until he was standing only so close that she could have reached out and touched him.

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” he said. “And I don’t feel like you know me at all.”

“Draco,” she said, softly. “I know who you are. You’re a good man. You care about everything. You even, I think, care about me.” She took another breath. “And I love all those pieces, but I can’t ignore the other things. You’re a Malfoy. You’ve got your parents, your family, your house.” She was still staring at the water. “I’m not… you’re a Malfoy, and I’m just me.” She laughed, softly and a little bitterly. “My parents are dentists. I’m not exactly someone you could take home at Christmas.”

There was an incredibly long pause. She could feel him breathing.

“Did you ever maybe think to ask me what was important to me?” he said. “What I really cared about?”

“I couldn’t,” Hermione said. “I understand what it’s like to be obligated to do something, even if you don’t want to be, and I didn’t want you to have to lie to me.”

“If I couldn’t bring you to Christmas,” he said, “I’d find somewhere else to go.”

“Draco, they’re your parents,” she said. “I’m not going to ask you to give that up. And even if they were all right with me – I don’t think I could ever walk into the Manor again. There’s some of that history that doesn’t really go away.”

“You don’t get it,” he said, finally. He actually sounded surprised. “You think you know me, but I don’t think you do.”

“I’m trying,” she said. “I’m trying very hard. And I miss you. I hate this. But you can’t possibly give those things up for me, and I would never ask you to.”

“Hermione,” he said, taking another step closer. “I only saw my parents two or three times a year when I was doing fieldwork. I do care about them. But I spent every single evening with you. I wanted to build a life with you. That was a lot more of my time than once or twice a month.” She still couldn’t quite bring herself to look at him. “It was a lot more of my heart.”

“Wanted,” she said, trying to keep her voice from breaking.

She was surprised when he cupped her face in his hands, tilting it up until she had to meet his eyes.

“You get to choose for you,” he said. “If you don’t want this for any reason, that’s your choice. It’s going to take me some time, but I’ll manage. We can be friends as long as you don’t hate me for things I did years ago. But you don’t get to choose for me. If I want to be in it, then you’re going to have to find a way to trust that I’ve already weighed everything and chosen you.”

“Do you want to?” Hermione said, softly.

“I had this really stupid idea,” Draco said, “that I wanted to be happy.”

“I think you should still want to be happy,” Hermione said. “No matter what happens.”

“I do want that, actually,” he said. “And I’ve figured out what makes me happy, so I can tell you that it’s not the manor or truly obscene amounts of gold or the idea of marrying someone because our houses are a good match.”

“Oh,” Hermione said.

“I was actually thinking,” Draco said, “that I liked Africa and teaching truly irredeemable teenagers and that I might love someone because she’s a good match for _me_.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, again.

“Do you ever think about wanting that too?” he said.

Her breath caught again, and she almost couldn’t think through the relief.

“Well,” Hermione said. “I’m not all that wild about the teenagers.”

“You like them,” Draco said, starting to laugh.

“I’m also not entirely sure about my feelings on Africa,” Hermione said.

“I’ll take you someday,” Draco said. “I really think you might enjoy the man-eating plants.”

“But the last part,” she said, letting out a breath. “I could maybe want the last part.”

“Hermione?” Draco said

“Yes?” Hermione said.

“I can’t kiss you while you’re skulking around ponds, I’m too tall for that,” he said. “I think you’re going to have to stand up.”

“Oh, all right,” she said, letting him pull her to her feet. She felt relieved and a little bit giddy. The look on Draco’s face suggested that he was in the same place.

“I missed you,” he said, leaning until their foreheads were touching. “No one else shares my twisted sense of humor.”

Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck. “I may have missed said twisted sense of humor. But only a little.”

“I can work with that,” he said. “I have two things, by the way.”

“Two things?” Hermione said.

“One,” Draco said, solemnly. “I haven’t the faintest idea what a dentist is. You might have to tell me later.”

“I’m sure I can find a picture book for you,” Hermione said, amused.

“Two,” he said. “I’m going to beat you back to the castle.”

“We could probably go back together,” Hermione suggested. “I could… you know, come over. If you want.”

“That’s a very appealing offer,” Draco said. “But I’m not sure you’re going to feel that way by the time you get back to the castle.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Hermione said.

“Oh, reasons,” he said, then pushed her backwards into the pond.

She came up sputtering and very covered in mud.

“What the _hell_ ,” she said. He was laughing hard.

“I missed you,” he said. “And, you know, you’re wearing a white shirt. I didn’t really think about you getting covered in mud and ruining the effect though, we may have to call that a tactical error on my part.”

“This isn’t fucking _Pride and Prejudice_ , Malfoy,” she said, but she’d started laughing too.

“There you go again with the muggle books,” he said.

“It’s terrible, no one gets together at the end,” she lied. “You should take notes.”

“Too late,” Draco said. “We’re already together.”

“I can break up with you any time I want,” Hermione said. “Like now, I think now might be an excellent time.”

“Not if you can’t catch me, you can’t,” Draco said.

“At least help me out of here,” she said, holding out a hand.

“Absolutely not,” he said. “I know how that goes. You’re going to pull me in.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” she muttered. It hadn’t been her best plan, but she was lying in a muddy pond. Allowances had to be made for circumstance.

“I’m not,” Draco said, grinning. “I can see through all your Gryffindor tricks.”

“You are a terrible person,” Hermione informed him. “And I hate you.”

“Have fun with that,” Draco said, cheerfully. “And getting out of the pond. And –“ He looked her up and down, rather pointedly. “The whole shirt thing. It’s probably going to be very cold outside.”

“When I get out of here, you’re dead,” she said. She couldn’t stop laughing.

“I mean, there’s that option,” Draco said. He pitched his voice low. “Or you could… you know, come over. If you want.”

“Fuck you,” Hermione said. “Are you really mocking me right now?”

“I like how you went from extremely subtle to extremely overt with the sexual innuendo there,” he said. “It was charming. I’m going to head back to the castle. I think your wand is under that lily pad.”

“Your days are numbered,” Hermione said.

“I’ll take my chances,” Draco said, and disappeared out the greenhouse door.

Drying charms didn’t work on a large amount of water, and they definitely didn’t work on a large amount of pond mud. There was also the fact that her wand was dripping wet. It was, in fact, freezing, and she tried very hard to muster some sort of outrage on her way up to the castle. She was almost mad about being pushed into a pond and left to drown and get hypothermia. Almost. When she got inside, she managed to spell off some of the mud and to cast a few less than spectacular warming charms, but there definitely wasn’t going to be any saving her jeans.

Fortunately, it was apparently past curfew, so she didn’t run into anyone in the hallway.

“Open the fucking door, Malfoy,” she said, knocking perhaps a bit more loudly than was strictly necessary.

“When I said come by, I was really hoping for a trench coat with nothing –“

“Oh, no,” she said, grabbing him and pulling him in close before he could do anything about it. “You’re going down with me on this one. Also, people who push other people into ponds don’t get to participate in any shagging.”

“You know, if I’d known that was going to be the case,” Draco said, looking speculative. “I’d probably still have shoved you into the pond.” He grinned. “Yeah, I’d definitely still have shoved you into the pond.”

Hermione got mud in his hair. It probably wasn’t the most mature response.

“I think you should take all your clothes off,” Draco said, going for a straight face. “They’re completely covered in mud. Actually, so are mine now, what a shame. I’ll have to take them off too.”

“Are you going to tell me why you pushed me into a pond?” Hermione said, although she had a decent idea of the answer. He looked at her for a moment.

“I’ve had a very bad month,” Draco said, finally. His tone had gone back to serious. “I thought the person I was stupidly in love with hated me for reasons I didn’t have any control over. And I was utterly miserable because I couldn’t see her every day or talk to her or read in her office. It was rather challenging not to show up and beg her to reconsider. It took a lot of energy to try to stay that mad all the time.”

“I might know what that’s like,” Hermione said.

“So,” Draco said, quietly. “I was happy to find out that wasn’t true, and then I couldn’t take being serious for five more minutes.”

Hermione pulled him down and kissed him.

“Being serious is overrated,” she murmured, against his mouth. “Kissing is less overrated.”

Draco, apparently, agreed, though he drew back a few minutes later.

“Speaking of,” Draco said, nudging his nose against hers. “I might be under the impression that we’re people who could have reasonable conversations about things.”

“We can probably manage the exceedingly broad topic of things,” Hermione agreed, still a little breathless. “Where would you like to start?”

“Probably by disclaiming that I’m not particularly good at talking about sex,” Draco said. There was a faint bit of pink over his cheekbones. “But I have a sneaking suspicion you’re not going to let me get away with being flip about the whole thing. I know I’ve only kissed you three times, but I’d rather get it over with first.”

“Really?” Hermione said, startled. “I’d have thought… you’re sort of overly confident about literally everything.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t any good at _sex_ ,” Draco said. “I said I was bad at talking about it.”

“I actually would have let you get away with being flip about the whole thing,” Hermione said, amused.

“Damn,” he said. “Can I take back the last few things I’ve said and start over?”

“Probably not,” Hermione said.

“I think I’d talk about it anyway,” he said, with a sigh. “You make me want to do all these things I usually hate.”

“They’re good for you,” Hermione said, stroking her fingers through his hair.

“It would be very easy to get carried away here,” he admitted, nuzzling her temple. “But I don’t know what you’re okay with, so I thought I’d better ask.”

“I don’t actually know, honestly,” Hermione said. “I’ve never felt this way about someone.”

“Me either,” Draco said.

“It’s also sort of, you know,” she said. “I live in a castle in the middle of Scotland. Dating opportunities are somewhat limited. It’s been a while.”

“Shockingly, isolated African rainforests aren’t full of eligible women either,” Draco said. “Who’d have thought?”

“Meaning I’ve slept with one person,” Hermione said, dryly.

“I was pointedly not thinking about that,” he said. “I might pretend it was Potter. I could just chalk that up to some terrible adolescent mistake, he’s slightly tolerable occasionally.”

Hermione laughed. “I thought we weren’t being flip.”

“Dire circumstances,” Draco said. “Hold on, how are you good at talking about this? Potter’s bad at talking about anything. You can’t have learned anything from him.”

“I’m never bad at anything involving talking,” she said, amused. “Also, are you aware how much of my life I spend trying to convince teenagers to have safe, consensual sex where they talk to one another? I had to write a script.”

“I got that a few times,” Draco mused. “I told them no alcohol, make sure she says yes and stop the second she says no, you can say no too, and make sure someone’s taking a contraceptive potion.”

“Oh, look,” Hermione said. “You didn’t even need my script.”

“Are you?” Draco said.

“Am I what?” Hermione said. “Oh, taking a potion. Yes. But I’m reserving the right to have a glass of wine later. Adult prerogative.”

“I can probably live with that,” Draco said. “Although I don’t really have the slightest idea where you’re going to want to stop saying yes.” He considered. She realized he was watching her closely. “Or if you’re going to want to stop saying yes.”

“You knock me off my feet when you’re just standing too close,” Hermione admitted. “Sex is going to be a lot.”

“Here too,” Draco said. “But whatever you want is fine by me.”

“That’s not how this works,” Hermione said. “You have to tell me where you’re at too. We’re not making any decisions just for my sake.”

“I think,” Draco said. “I just want to touch you. I don’t really care what happens after that.” He paused. “I might start caring, but…” She felt him relax under her hands. He sounded surprised. “You’re not going to mind if I do, are you.”

“Not in the least,” Hermione said. “I trust you enough to be perfectly fine with figuring out as we go.”

“You know, I’ve never met anyone like you,” Draco said. “I might start to like this whole direct approach, and then where are we going to be?”

“Much better at communication?” Hermione hazarded.

He looked at her for a moment, then kissed her again.

“I’m going to go wash off the pond muck I’m covered in,” Hermione said, before they could get carried away. She considered. “If you promise not to shove me into the bath you can probably come with.”

“Maybe use the shower first,” Draco said, mildly. “It’s rather a lot of mud.”

“Oh, is it?” Hermione said. “I really hadn’t noticed.”

“Is this all right?” he said. He’d gone still. “Messing around, I mean. I’ll be serious if you want me to be.”

“Don’t you dare,” Hermione said, kissing him again. “I’m going to be very unhappy if I can’t have any fun with this.”

He relaxed again. “I know I can sometimes…”

“Use humor to avoid intimacy?” Hermione said, amused.

“I wouldn’t have put it exactly like that,” Draco said. “But, yes, all right. Occasionally.”

“You’re sort of the pot calling the kettle black on that one,” Hermione said.

“I wasn’t going to say that either,” Draco said.

“Are you doing that now?” Hermione said.

“No, actually,” Draco said, after a pause. “I don’t think you are either.”

“Maybe don’t spend all night borrowing trouble,” she said, softly, nudging her nose against his. “This is supposed to be the easy part.”

“I suppose,” Draco said. “I don’t know, it could be worse than spending three weeks miserable and fighting.”

“I think that’s a little unlikely,” Hermione said.

“You just never know about these things, really,” Draco said.

“I’m getting in the shower now,” Hermione said. “Take it or leave it.”

“Take it, I think,” Draco said.

“Let me wash the worst of this off first,” Hermione said. She was doing her best not to blush, although she had a feeling it wasn’t working. “I really don’t want you seeing me naked for the first time when I’m covered in mud.”

“I love that you think I’d even notice,” Draco said.

“You can go find me that glass of wine,” Hermione said.

Draco’s bath was about five times larger than hers, although he claimed he hadn’t done anything with it. It had a shower and a ridiculous in-ground tub that really looked more like a pool than it had any right to. Her claw-foot tub was probably better for reading, but it still seemed vaguely unfair.

She left her clothes on a shelf and they disappeared, presumably to the laundry. Draco also, apparently, had much hotter water than she did, which was probably a good thing given the amount of scrubbing it took to get clean. She was on her second round of fighting with her hair when she heard the door.

“I brought –“ Draco said, then stopped short.

“Wine?” Hermione said, turning around. She remembered the stupid anti-fog charm on the door a little too late.

“Definitely, ah, wine,” he said. 

She had briefly considered how self-conscious she was probably going to feel and decided that she could probably fake her way through it, but the way Draco was looking at her made her think that was going to be slightly… challenging. She’d forgotten that he was good at seeing through her. Somehow, she hadn’t entirely thought about this piece.

“You’re staring,” she said, glad for the hot water to hide her blush. “Stop that.”

“I’d really rather not,” he said. “You look…”

“Very wet and slightly mud covered?” Hermione said, pointedly.

“You talk a good game,” Draco said. He was leaning against the wall, looking exactly as nonchalant as he usually did. “But if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were being shy.”

“Can we not talk about that while you’re over there in three layers?” Hermione said.

“I can probably fix the three layers,” he said. “Maybe even the over here part as well.”

“Go put water in your ludicrously oversized bath or something,” Hermione said. She turned back around to find shampoo that might actually be effective.

“I decided to go with the something part of that sentence,” Draco said, a minute later. She jumped; somehow, he’d sneaked up on her. “It seemed broad, I thought it might include getting undressed, bringing the wine over here, and staring some more.”

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. “You are completely irredeemable,” she said.

“I actually have many redeeming qualities,” Draco said. He was smiling. “I could start listing them if you’d like.”

“Your ego doesn’t need any help,” Hermione said. 

“I could start listing your redeeming qualities instead,” he offered. “You look incredibly good naked, for a start.”

“Knock it off,” she said. He’d nearly made her forget that they were both naked. The glass door wasn’t doing a lot on that count.

“Can I come in there or not?” Draco said.

“If you bring the wine,” Hermione said. There were several very interesting tiles on the wall.

“Are you not looking at me?” Draco said, then laughed. “You’re not, are you?”

“I was earlier,” Hermione muttered. “You’re distracting.”

She heard the shower door.

“You do realize it’s perfectly all right if you want to be distracted, don’t you?” Draco said. “I’m currently so distracted that I probably wouldn’t be able to answer if you asked how to brew potions.”

“I know,” Hermione said. “It’s just…”

“Can I touch you?” Draco said.

“I – yes,” she said, because she had a very strong suspicion that he wasn’t going to do it if she gave him a smart answer. And she wanted him to.

He stepped in, wrapping an arm around her waist from behind and leaning to kiss her neck. He pulled her back against his chest. She took a breath, then another, because this close, there really wasn’t any ignoring him.

“It’s been a long few weeks, hasn’t it?” he murmured, against her skin.

“Very,” Hermione said. She finally gave in and leaned back against him.

“How about,” Draco said, “you tell me what you’re worrying about, and I tell you why you should stop?”

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” Hermione said.

“Try me,” Draco said. Hermione was surprised to realize that the idea felt easier than keeping things to herself.

“I don’t know,” she said, softly. “It’s been a long time. I’m not wildly sure of myself. I’ve never been remotely interested in having sex with someone I wasn’t dating, which is why I’ve never bothered to go find strangers in bars or whatever it is people do, and this is brand new. And you’re… you. It’s sort of intimidating. There’s also the bit where an hour ago I wasn’t sure if you’d ever talk to me again.”

“One, I wouldn’t have been any good at not talking to you on a permanent basis, two, quit assuming I’ve slept around the entirety of three continents,” Draco said, kissing her collar bone. “And three, I like when you’re excellent at everything, but I like it more that you let me see it when you’re not.”

“I think I’m worried that you might change your mind,” Hermione said, finally.

“You know, I worry a lot that you’re going to figure me out and that you won’t like what you find,” Draco said. “Although I was a lot more worried about it an hour ago.”

“I’ve liked it all so far,” Hermione said. “Besides, you’re… I’m not very good at being without you these days. I could do it, but I don’t want to. We’d work it out.”

“I’m not actually sleeping with you because of how you look naked or because I think you’re going to be mind-blowing in bed,” he said, dryly. “Although it’s much nicer to have you naked in person, trust me. But I want this with you because…” He turned her around and tilted her chin up, meeting her eyes. “I want to be around you all the time, and being close to you is one of the best things in my life. Even if reading on the couch with you was occasionally torture because I couldn’t touch you the way I wanted to.”

“I like it too,” Hermione said.

“I’d like to get closer, you were far away for too long,” Draco said. “That’s all.” He grinned. “Plus, it’s generally been my experience that sex isn’t horrible.”

“Not usually, no,” Hermione said.

“I understand if you don’t believe me,” he said, gravely. “I’m sure you only had bad experiences with Potter.”

“Oh, definitely,” Hermione agreed. “All completely awful.”

“God, I missed your laugh,” Draco said, pulling her closer. 

He kissed her again, deeper this time. She felt better about the whole thing.

“Do you want to go over there?” she murmured. “I think I’d be all right with not standing.”

“I multitasked, by the way,” he said. “I’m very good at that. The bath should be full by now.”

“Is there anything you don’t think you’re good at?” Hermione said, amused.

“Levitation spells,” Draco said, wryly. “Talking about sex, but I said that already. Oh, and I’m not very good at poaching eggs.”

“I might be able to live with all that,” Hermione said.

“I can hope,” Draco said. He stepped out of the shower and then took the steps down into the bath, summoning the wine to pour it. Hermione felt strongly that no one’s bathtub ought to have steps.

Hermione stepped in herself. She’d thought he wasn’t looking, but apparently he didn’t need to look to fill wine glasses.

“Should I get used to you staring every time I’m naked?” she said. Trying not to blush was apparently still pointless.

“Yes?” Draco said. “I’m not exactly one of those people who only has sex in the dark. It’s boring, you can’t see anything. And you’re –” He gestured with his wine glass, looking smug. “Easy on the eyes?”

Hermione laughed. “I think not being able to see might be the entire point of the dark bit.”

“The entire point is actually that we’re not doing that,” Draco said. He held his free hand out, pulling her back in against his chest again.

“I could probably agree to those terms,” Hermione said, taking the other glass of wine.

“That thing where I said I wasn’t sleeping with you because of how you look naked,” Draco said, thoughtfully. “I was lying.”

“You might want to have some other reasons too. Women like that sort of thing.”

He considered. “No, that’s pretty much all of it,” he said.

“What am I going to do with you?” Hermione said.

“I don’t know,” Draco said. “Hang around here until we get tired of the bath then have sex with me and then have more sex in the morning? Then I guess we could probably get breakfast. I’d be willing to substitute snogging for sex if you’d rather.”

“That seems like a very reasonable short-term plan,” Hermione agreed.

“Long term, you can keep me, and we’ll have more sex, and presumably continue to eat breakfast,” Draco said. He looked almost drowsy; she was glad all the tension had finally gone out of his shoulders.

Hermione leaned up to kiss his temple, amused. “Do you always talk this much? I seem to recall sex involving a lot less talking.”

“I missed talking to you,” Draco said. “And sex at seventeen is universally bad because everyone involved thinks they’re going to die if it doesn’t happen in the next thirty seconds.”

“Upon reflection, I might actually still feel that way around you,” Hermione said. 

“I’ll get my act together eventually,” Draco said. “At the moment, I’m warm and talking to you. This is nice.”

“I’m not going to be wildly impressed if you fall asleep,” she said.

“I’m not falling asleep,” Draco said. “I’m just relaxed.” He laughed. “I know it’s novel.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever actually seen it,” Hermione said. She was surprised to realize that she really hadn’t. “You don’t even calm down when you’re asleep.”

“You try sharing a couch with someone who you’re sure will never reciprocate your feelings because you used to be a bad person,” Draco said. “You wouldn’t be very relaxed either.”

“I feel like maybe we ought to quit assuming things about what the other person thinks,” Hermione said. “I don’t actually think you used to be a bad person.”

“I probably would have been stressed regardless,” Draco said. “Having feelings for other people is hard.”

“I like you like this,” Hermione said. “It makes me want to do exceptionally inappropriate things to you.”

“This?” Draco said. He looked at her, considering. “I thought you liked when I was off being competent at things.”

She reached up and ran her fingertips through his hair, and he leaned into her touch.

“I like that too,” Hermione said. “But the idea of you not worrying about anything is a little… you know.” She turned to kiss him. “Appealing.”

“Damn, go back to being nervous,” Draco murmured. “Otherwise I’m just going to end up turned on instead of relaxed.”

“Or you could be turned on _and_ relaxed,” Hermione said. “Want to go fool around on the couch?”

“I do have a bed,” Draco said. “But you can’t just say things like that, I stop being able to remember how Quidditch works.”

“There’s already a fire,” Hermione said. “Besides, I wouldn’t want you having any stressful memories about the couch.”

“I probably have some,” Draco mused. “Possibly every single time you came down here and sat on the couch at the same time I did. And especially all the times you fell asleep on top of me.”

“We’ll just have to hope it’s fixable,” Hermione said, gravely. “I’m not sure of the prognosis there.”

“I’m cautiously optimistic,” Draco said. “It might take some work though.”

She leaned to kiss him again. “Go figure out the couch. I have to dry my hair or it’s going to kill us both.”

“I’m going to go, you know, something about a couch,” Draco said, vaguely. He climbed out and found a towel. “Try to regain brain function. Minor details.”

“I’ll be out in three minutes,” Hermione said. “Maybe put some clothes on. I’ll take another glass of wine.”

She’d wanted a moment to herself, but she realized she didn’t entirely need one. Draco was exactly as easy as he’d always been, and she’d trusted him with more important things than this. And even if she’d spent a long time refusing to notice, he was charming and attractive and just - _himself_. All the times he’d made her heart race or her stomach turn over… she wanted him, and when she wasn’t trying to make the feeling go away, she wanted him badly enough that it was almost enough to make her stop worrying about the whole thing.

“Red or white?” Draco said, turning from the sideboard when she came out. He’d put on a pair of pyjama bottoms. The conjuring spell from her dresser, rather annoyingly, hadn’t worked. But she’d managed to talk the shelves into giving up some of Draco’s shirts, although the selection had been somewhat limited.

“Red,” she said. “And I was trying for sexy, but my clothes are all upstairs or covered in mud. You’ve only got yourself to blame, I think this is about four sizes too big. And I like the Harpies, not the Magpies.”

“Actually,” he said, looking her up and down. “That’s my favorite shirt, but you ought to keep it, it looks much better on you. Although we might need to discuss your taste in Quidditch teams.”

Hermione laughed; she’d had to roll the sleeves up and it was falling off one shoulder.

“That was longer than three minutes,” Draco said, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her in when she came to get the wine. “But having seen your hair with no intervention, it was probably time well spent.”

“Watch it,” Hermione said, taking her glass. “It’ll get you in your sleep.”

“I’m used to it,” Draco said, nuzzling her shoulder. He spread a palm out against the small of her back. “But speaking of sleep, I genuinely don’t mind if you want to go to bed. Or even if you want to go back upstairs.”

“Do you want me to go?” Hermione said.

“I asked first,” Draco said. He’d ended up with a glass of scotch.

“Draco,” she said. “I know that it’s new, and I know you don’t want to pressure me into anything.” She nudged her nose against his again. “And I appreciate that. But you can’t worry so much about it that you won’t even let on that you’re interested. Besides, didn’t you give me some sort of lecture about playing small?”

“I did,” Draco said. He was looking at her somewhat intently. “But I’m…” He laughed, but it was a little lower than she was used to. “I don’t do anything halfway, and I’m a Slytherin. You might want to think about it before you ask me not to dial it back at all.”

“What, do you think I want to be sleeping with someone else?” Hermione said.

“No,” Draco said. “But let’s just say that I’m aware I can be a lot to handle. And I’m bad about that in bed. I can’t hide much of what I’m thinking.” He was looking at his glass instead of at her. “We could also say that it hasn’t historically been everyone’s favorite trait.”

Hermione looked at him; he’d gone sort of deliberately casual and tense again, so she wrapped her arms around his neck, stepping closer.

“Malfoy,” she said, gently. “You keep warning me off all the things I love best about you.”

“You haven’t seen all the sharp edges,” he said, finally.

Hermione took a breath. “I’m a lot to handle too,” she said. “I won’t apologize for being smart, I never back down from anything, and I get bored incredibly easily. I’m ambitious. I don’t settle.” She looked at him. “Do you know where I nearly got sorted into?”

“Ravenclaw,” Draco said.

“I mean, that’s what I tell people,” Hermione said. “But I had to argue it out of Slytherin.”

“You?” Draco said. He looked startled.

“Me,” she said, with a smile. “It took me forever to understand it, because I kept mistaking things purebloods value for things Slytherins value. But I’m ambitious, and I’m good at thinking on my feet. And I realized… Gryffindors are loyal to causes. I thought for a long time that I was too, but I wasn’t, actually. I was loyal to Harry and Ron.”

“What are you trying to say?” Draco said, quietly.

“That you’re incredibly mercurial and given to being exceptionally good at everything,” Hermione said, amused. “But I like that. I like you never doing anything halfway. I even like that you’re a Slytherin. I’m never bored around you, and you’re actually better than me at quite a few things.”

“A few,” Draco said. “Anything involving heat or casting when it’s raining, for one.”

“I used to think it was infuriating,” Hermione said. “But to be totally honest, it’s kind of a turn on.” She laughed. “I’ve never met anyone else who could outclass me, apparently I like it.”

Draco was looking at her speculatively. “I could read into that.”

“You should read into that, actually,” Hermione said. “I’ll be very disappointed if you don’t. I’ll also be very disappointed if you spend all night trying to be someone you’re not because you think you’re going to scare me off by being too enthusiastic.”

Draco kept looking at her, so she met his eyes. He took a breath after a moment, and she could tell that he’d let go of the tension, although he didn’t look entirely… relaxed anymore.

“You’ve rather ruined my long game here,” Draco said, after a moment. “I had at least another six months of casual flirting planned out.”

“You did kiss me first,” Hermione said. “Just as a point of order.”

“It was New Year’s,” Draco said. “I was supposed to be able to get away with it.”

“Sorry I ruined it by climbing into your lap,” Hermione said. “Try being less attractive next time.”

“I can probably work with that,” Draco said.

“Stop being polite and actually tell me that you want me,” Hermione suggested. “We’ll both be happier.”

“I’d have thought that would have been obvious,” Draco said. He looked as if he was considering something. “I really can’t hide it if I’m interested. You, on the other hand.” His gaze went to her mouth, then back up. “You might have to tell me how you feel about the whole thing in explicit detail. Just to be sure we’re on the same page.”

“You make all these jokes, but where’s the follow through?” Hermione said, putting her hands on her hips.

“You’re very cute when you try to be saucy,” Draco said. “Since you’re insisting, I only want to go to bed if I can fuck you through the mattress.”

Hermione choked on her wine.

“What?” Draco said, mildly. “You asked.”

“Now I can’t tell if you’re screwing around or interested,” Hermione said, recovering. “This might be worse.”

“You like it,” Draco said, with a sudden grin. “Actually, I think you might like it a lot. Or did you want to go back to the bit where I was taking the whole thing seriously?”

“I’m going to start kissing you just to shut you up,” Hermione said.

“That’s one way to do it,” Draco said. “There are a few others I could think of.”

“I’m probably going to have to resort to some of those too,” Hermione said.

“You’ve got this whole brinkmanship thing going on, and it would be very effective and incredibly hot,” Draco said, letting her go to sit on the couch, “except you blush every time.”

“I see you and I’ll raise you,” Hermione said, leaving her empty wine glass on the end table. She came over and slid into his lap. He was obnoxiously right about the blushing. “I don’t actually think you care if I’m faking my way through it.”

“Oh, I very _much_ care,” Draco said, laughing. “Although if you’d like to be a Gryffindor about the whole foreplay piece, be my guest.” 

“I wasn’t –“ Hermione said. “Damn it.”

He settled his hands on her hips. “We could pretend you haven’t done this before. I mean, you practically haven’t, Gryffindors don’t count. I could be… nice.”

“You can’t be nice, and you’re about to have sex with a Gryffindor, shut it,” Hermione said, but he’d made her laugh too.

“Oh, am I,” Draco said. He was kissing the curve of her neck. She’d somehow forgotten exactly what he was like when he wasn’t holding anything back, although it felt a lot better than when he’d been acting like someone else.

“Possibly,” Hermione said. He bit, then licked over it. She did her best not to shiver. “Okay, probably.”

“Hermione,” he murmured. He’d pulled back, and the way he was looking at her –

“What?” she said.

“If you don’t relax and stop analyzing everything, I’m going to have to do something about it,” he said. “You may not have noticed, but I’m somewhat head over heels for you.” He spread a hand out against her jaw, pulling her down for a kiss. “And you look good in that shirt, and out of that shirt, and covered in mud. It probably could get better for me, but I’m really at about ninety percent.” He kissed her again. “The rest of it mostly involves you getting naked again.”

“You’re saying you’re easy,” Hermione said.

“I’m saying I’m very easy,” Draco corrected. “So quit worrying and let me do nice things to you.”

“But –“ she started.

“You’re about to say things about everyone pulling their weight,” Draco said. “I’d much rather you tell me what you like. Or you could let me figure it out for myself.”

“I just –“ Hermione said.

“Stop that,” Draco said, firmly, sliding an arm around her waist and using it to pull her in. “You think your way through everything, and I appreciate that because I do the same thing, but neither of us is doing that in bed.” He was looking up at her. “We’re having sex. You’re going to enjoy it. I’m fairly certain I’m going to forget my own name, because it’s you. If you’re not there yet, we’ll wait. But if we’re doing this, you have to trust me enough to stop trying to plan for every single eventuality.”

“I do,” Hermione said, softly. “I think I’m just nervous.” She bit the corner of her lip. “Which is probably why I haven’t been able to stop talking all night.”

“You’re very smart about nearly everything,” Draco said. “But I think you might be slightly oblivious about how appealing you actually are.” He laughed. “I’ve known I was in trouble since I got here.” He leaned to kiss her neck again. “I’m not sure I had a decent grasp as to the extent of the trouble I was going to get into, mind you.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. “Really?”

“You really think –“ Draco said, then paused. She felt him laughing against her skin. “Hermione, if you’re operating under the impression that I’ve never thought about this, you’ve completely lost your mind.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, again. She considered it. “I wasn’t thinking about it with you until I couldn’t ignore any of it anymore. And that happened all at once.”

“That,” Draco said, “is because women are much better at compartmentalizing. And that also means that I’ve apparently been thinking about this a lot longer than you have, so are you going to stop talking?”

“I think I could do that,” Hermione murmured.

“’Yes’ is a complete sentence,” Draco said. “I happen to like it.”

“So is, ‘Stop talking and kiss me,’” Hermione said. “I like that one too.”

“You drive a very hard bargain,” Draco informed her, but he kissed her again.

She’d been trying not to kiss him like this, not really, but now there wasn’t really any reason not to. It felt like the first time, when she hadn’t been thinking about it and he hadn’t been holding back. She was thinking too hard about it again, but when Draco drew back, presumably to say something, she leaned in and kissed him again. Hermione hadn’t always been particularly good at taking things she wanted, but she really didn’t want to fight it anymore. And he’d been right: it was significantly better than missing him.

She wasn’t entirely sure how long it had been, but Draco nipped her lower lip. She made a soft noise and pressed closer, and he slid his hands up her outer thighs.

“Not that I don’t like the shirt,” he murmured, against her mouth. “But I really think you should let me take it off.”

“If you insist,” Hermione said.

“Was that a yes?” Draco said, amused. “Because I definitely insist.”

“Yes,” Hermione said. She kissed him again, lifting her arms to let him pull it over her head. “Are you going to make me say yes to everything all night?”

“I sincerely hope so,” Draco said. “By the way, this was an excellent decision on my part.”

He’d leaned back to look at her, and she realized that she really didn’t feel particularly self-conscious about it anymore. She couldn’t really bring herself to worry about it when he was looking at her like that.

“You know,” he said, thoughtfully. “I might have thought about this nearly every time you decided to lean all over me on the couch, but this is definitely better than I imagined.”

“I’m not sure,” Hermione said. “You should probably touch me just to test that theory.”

“If you insist,” Draco said, with a grin. He leaned up to kiss her warmly, wrapping his arm around her waist again to pin her closer. He bit at the curve of her neck, then slid his other hand up her side, up to cup her breast, and Hermione let her head fall back. She was already breathing hard, and it really wasn’t because they’d been kissing.

“God, I want to put my mouth all over you,” Draco murmured, kissing across her collar bone. He licked the hollow of her throat, and she gave up on the idea that she wasn’t going to shift around in his lap until she could get almost exactly as close as she wanted. 

“You’re much too dressed,” Hermione managed. “We should fix that.”

“I’m exactly the right amount of dressed,” Draco said. “Otherwise you couldn’t be doing that. I like that.”

“I could be doing a lot more than this,” Hermione said. He was hard, and right _there_. And she really couldn’t think of any good reasons why she couldn’t have him. “Actually, I really want to be doing a lot more than this.” She kissed him again. “Emphasis on really. Possibly on more.”

“Do you?” Draco said, amused. “Tell me more about that.”

“What happened to the excessive enthusiasm?” Hermione said. “I want you inside me. You can be enthusiastic about it if you’d like.”

Draco laughed. “You’re the one who assumed about enthusiasm being the issue,” he said. “It’s hardly my fault you missed the part where I said I wanted to find out what you like.” It felt like his hands were all over her. “I’m not particularly interested in skipping straight to sex.”

“I like me on top of you with less clothes,” Hermione said. “In the next thirty seconds.”

“That’s nice,” Draco said, trailing his fingers up her spine. She shivered again. “But I’m betting you like other things too.” He looked overly pleased with himself when he leaned back to look at her again. “I don’t think we should stick to just one thing you like, really.”

“When you said you were a lot to handle,” Hermione said, “did you actually mean that you were completely set on getting your own way and an utter tease?”

“We can do anything you want,” Draco said. He grinned. “But my way is definitely better.”

“I like my way,” Hermione said, but she was sort of curious. “But I should probably hear both. Just to be sure.”

“My way is that you just go along with it,” Draco said. “It’s good for you. You’re always the one making plans.”

“You mean you’re improvising,” Hermione said.

“Oh, definitely,” Draco said. He nipped her earlobe. “You could tell me what you like. It might be faster. Then we can both get what we want.”

Hermione stretched, putting a little space between them so she could get a good look at him. He looked happy and unguarded, like he hadn’t bothered trying to put any walls up. It was almost like the way she’d caught him looking at her a few times, late at night in her office or when she’d come over for drinks, but it somehow wasn’t quite the same. She suspected it was because he no longer minded if she saw it.

“I like you,” she said, honestly. “Actually, I love you. I like that I don’t have to worry anymore about how I touch you. I like getting to be in the same room as you. And I might like knowing that this doesn’t actually have to be perfect.” She slid a hand through his hair and pulled him in to kiss her, mostly because she could. “Presumably we’re going to have enough sex that we probably have the luxury of figuring most of it out later. So I don’t think we have to discover every single thing I like tonight.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Draco said. “On the other hand, I liked that answer a lot, so I’m probably willing to let it stand.”

Hermione laughed, and he tilted his head back to look up at her.

“I think you should do something you like,” she murmured. “I’ll probably like it too. Then I get to pick. For the record, if you don’t choose sex, I’m choosing sex.”

“I’m fairly certain it’s all sex,” Draco said, looking amused.

“The kind of sex where I stay in your lap and you fuck me,” Hermione said. “Happy?”

“I already was, that just makes it better,” Draco said. “You might have to get off me for my choice, though. Don’t worry, you can come back.”

“I was deeply concerned,” Hermione said. “Where am I moving, exactly?”

“This way,” Draco said, twisting so he could tip her back onto the side of the couch closer to the fire.

Draco propped himself on an elbow then kissed her again, stroking a palm down her side. He brushed a thumb over the inside of her knee, making her swallow, then slid his hand up the inside of her thigh. Hermione leaned into his touch, kissing him back, and shifted so more of his weight was on her. He was close, and hard against her thigh, and it was finally starting to feel real. She deepened the kiss, licking into his mouth, and he pushed his hips down against her. Draco drew back for a moment, meeting her eyes.

“You’re ruining all my carefully cultivated self-control,” he said, running his fingertips up the inside of her thigh again.

“Good,” she said, kissing him again. “I meant what I said about you being yourself.” She ran her palms over his back, spreading her hands out against the small of his back to pull his hips in closer. “Besides, I’m making up for not being able to touch you before.” 

Draco let his head fall to her shoulder when she ran her nails lightly over his shoulder blades. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s hard to let go of everything all at once.”

Hermione thought, probably, that talking about it wasn’t going to make either of them feel better, so she just kissed him again. As much as she wanted more, it was easier to get used to him like this. She could tell when he finally stopped thinking about it, and she relaxed into it too. He kept touching her, though, and even if he was just exploring, getting used to her skin, she had to admit that he was turning her on to the point of not being able to focus on anything else.

“Draco,” she murmured. “I like this, but…”

He pulled back, although he really wasn’t putting any space between them. “I had a plan but then I got distracted,” he said, laughing softly. He’d been very obviously trying not to press closer for the last few minutes, but it didn’t entirely seem like he was winning that particular battle.

“You keep asking what I like,” Hermione said. “But what about you?”

“With you, I think it’s probably everything,” Draco said. He was flushed all the way down his chest, and his eyes had gone very dark.

“That’s not an answer I can do something about,” Hermione said. She reached up to rub the back of his neck, and Draco made a soft, satisfied noise and arched into it.

“What I’d like,” he said, “is to get you off before we go with your plan.” He was still leaning into her touch. “I think your plan is relatively excellent, for the record.”

“I could maybe like that too,” Hermione said.

“I was very serious about wanting to put my mouth all over you,” Draco murmured. “Can I?”

“Do you actually want to?” Hermione said.

Draco laughed again. “You said I should do something I liked,” he said, starting to kiss down her stomach. “Ergo, you can probably assume if I’m asking that I like it.”

“I’m actually not entirely sure how much I do,” Hermione admitted.

Draco kissed her hip bone. “This might go without saying, but you’re allowed to say no to things. And to change your mind. You can even want something and change your mind half way through.” He glanced up at her with a smile, and she realized that he really had let his walls drop. “I’m easy, remember?”

“I want you to,” she said. “But if I’m starting to get impatient, you’re probably on the verge of that whole dying in thirty seconds thing.” 

“Maybe in the morning,” Draco said, thoughtfully.

“Definitely in the morning,” Hermione corrected. “You hate talking before breakfast. Now you have a perfectly good excuse not to.”

“I like that argument,” Draco said. She pushed him out of the way so she could sit up, and he followed.

“Don’t try to be perfect, okay?” she said, reaching to brush her thumb against his lower lip. “I don’t care. I’m not going anywhere. I want you as is.” She smiled. “I mean, I appreciate –“ She tilted his face up. “Thank you for making me feel safe, but it all applies just the same to you.” Hermione smiled. “Troublemaking, irredeemable Slytherin or not. I don’t need you to be easy. I’ll like you exactly the same amount if you’re complicated. Maybe more, actually. You know how I am about complicated things.”

Draco turned his head to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “I believe you,” he said. “Which probably says something about just how much I love you. I don’t think I’d believe it from anyone else.”

“I thought I should make that clear before we started this,” Hermione said. “But I’m also definitely starting this.”

“No objections here,” Draco said. “Possibly the opposite of objections.”

“Is that you saying yes?” Hermione said, laughing.

“Yes,” Draco said. “About a hundred times. You were right, that might have been slightly too much feeling you up without having sex.”

“You can keep doing that, I liked it,” Hermione said. “And now no one’s wound up over stupid things.”

“Just wound up in general,” Draco said. “Due to the fact that you’re right here and naked.” He ran a hand up her back. “Still want the same thing?”

“I should probably see if you like the idea,” she said, thoughtfully. “I don’t know, can I get back in your lap and do indecent things to you?”

“Yes,” Draco said.

“I think you might also need to be right here and naked for this activity,” Hermione said. “No more clothes.”

“You’re very demanding,” Draco said, although he seemed happy to oblige.

Hermione waited until he’d leaned back again to straddle him.

“Do you want to –“ Draco said. She decided she definitely wasn’t interested in waiting.

“I do, actually,” she said, and shifted until she could slide down onto him.

“About that self-control thing,” he murmured.

“Stop trying not to do things I really, really want you to do,” Hermione said. “I mean it, Draco, I want _you_.”

He kissed her hard, his hands suddenly all over her again, and then he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her in close. Hermione couldn’t move as much as she’d wanted to, but when he thrust up into her, she stopped caring. She was suddenly very out of breath.

“You have no idea how incredibly good you feel,” he murmured.

He had her held tight, and she was suddenly very aware of how careful he’d been not to take advantage of the fact that he was stronger than she was. She liked it much better when he wasn’t being cautious. She could feel his breath against the hollow of her throat, and then he bit at the curve of her neck, sharp and stinging. She let her head fall back, giving him more room.

He loosened his grip, stroking his palms up her back, over her shoulder blades. Draco was keeping it slow, with steady, even strokes into her, and she didn’t entirely get what he was doing until he dragged his teeth over her throat and thrust hard enough to push her hips up.

“Figure out where you want me,” he suggested, warm and a little rough. “You’re nowhere near as undone as I want you to be.”

She got closer, letting him take more of her weight when she leaned back.

“I think I –“ she managed, then he moved in a way that made her stomach drop out and her pulse race. “ _Oh_.”

“Good,” Draco said, using an arm around her waist to keep her pinned at the same angle. He traced his other hand up over her ribs again, light, then ran his nails down her spine until she arched into his touch with a gasp.

He picked up the pace, and it felt so good she couldn’t think about anything else. She bit down hard on her lower lip to keep from crying out when he used his nails again, rougher, and he made a soft noise against her skin, low and possessive.

“No one’s going to hear you but me,” he said, “so quit trying to be quiet.”

“I like that,” she managed, trying to catch her breath. It wasn’t happening.

“Note that I didn’t say talk,” Draco said, then kissed her again.

He ran his fingers down her stomach, then up the inside of her thigh. He was stroking an arc with his thumb across her skin, and he laughed when Hermione made a frustrated noise into his mouth and tried to press closer, only to find that she still couldn’t move.

“Oh, did you want something?” he said.

She kissed him harder, leaning in instead of pulling away, and he wrapped a hand around the top of her thigh and pressed his thumb against her clit, firm pressure that made her swear against his mouth. Between the way he was fucking her and the fact that he somehow seemed to know exactly where to touch her, she suddenly felt a little like there was an electric current just under her skin.

“I’m…” she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck; somehow, it felt as if she was never going to be able to get close enough.

“You’d better,” he said.

He thrust again, slower, and she came around him. Draco kept touching her until she felt warm all over, trying to catch her breath, but she could feel when he stopped managing to keep his entire focus on her. She kissed him again, burying her fingers in his hair, until he buried his face against her neck and came with a low, satisfied noise.

“I’m slightly borderline on staying upright,” he murmured against her shoulder a minute later. He nuzzled under the curve of her jaw. “Make that very borderline. You might want to move.”

Hermione laughed. “You’ll definitely fall over if I move,” she said, but she climbed back to where she’d been on the couch before.

“I’m just, you know,” Draco said, then followed her down. He went back to nuzzling her shoulder.

“Hey,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. “You’re heavy when you’re not making an effort.”

“Sorry,” Draco said, but he didn’t actually move. “Also about that other part.”

“I don’t entirely know where my wand is and I can’t remember any spells,” Hermione said. “But if you’re trying to apologize for the sex, I’ll figure out a way to kill you. There’s a fire poker over there.”

“I can get a little pushy,” Draco said, vaguely.

“If only I liked that sort of thing,” Hermione said. “If only I’d been trying to tell you all night that I really fucking get off on it.” She poked his shoulder. “If only you had listening skills.”

“Oh,” Draco said, thoughtfully.

“I’d be perfectly all right with doing that a few thousand more times,” Hermione said. “I might need something to put on all these bite marks in the morning, though.”

“No, you should keep those,” Draco said. He yawned. “They look good on you.”

Hermione shifted so she could kiss him. “Really, I mean it,” she said. “More of that.”

“I’m not like that in bed _all_ the time,” Draco said. “Sometimes I’m very happy and not very awake.” He yawned again. “Like now, I might be very happy and not very awake right now. But we could have more sex if you want.”

Hermione laughed again. “We can’t because if you fall asleep on me, you’ll crush me,” she said. “Come on. Less couch. More bed.”

“I think you should do the thing where you make the couch a bed,” Draco said. “Or a bigger couch. Something.”

“I could probably manage that,” Hermione said. She found her wand – which had ended up under the couch – and transfigured the couch. She’d done it often enough that Draco’s couch now seemed perfectly happy to be a bed. It had even stopped trying to revert back in the middle of the night.

“I might kind of have a bad habit of falling asleep after mind-blowing sex with you,” Draco said.

“Oh, really,” Hermione said, summoning the duvet and some pillows from his bedroom. “Are you planning on making this an ongoing thing?”

“Uh huh,” Draco said. He’d at least rolled off of her enough that she could breathe, but he was still in close against her side. She pulled the blankets up and settled in close. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t fallen asleep together on the couch plenty of times, but this was definitely better.

“I love you,” she said. “And I don’t mind if you keep falling asleep right after sex.”

“I love you back,” Draco said. “I can try to be awake. I just haven’t slept since, I don’t know, New Year’s.” He was looking at her. “And not at all last night.”

“You and me both,” Hermione said. She tangled her legs with his. “You can try to be awake, but you’re going to be trying on your own in the next five minutes.”

“When you put it that way, never mind,” Draco said. 

When she woke up, it took a minute to remember where she was; she was used to being on Draco’s couch, but not to waking up before the sun had risen without any clothes on. The fire had burned down to embers. Draco still had an arm draped over her waist, although he was propped up on his other elbow, looking down at her.

“What time is it?” she said.

“Early,” Draco murmured. “Go back to sleep.”

“Hold on, were you watching me?” Hermione said, rolling over so she could look at him.

“Maybe a little,” Draco said.

“But you could be sleeping too,” Hermione said, drowsily. She leaned over to kiss him. “We could both be sleeping.”

“I know,” Draco said, softly. “I was, but I woke up. And then…”

Hermione snuggled in closer, pulling the blankets up again; it had gotten cold. “I get it,” she said. “I didn’t really want to fall asleep in case you weren’t there when I woke up. But I’m still here, so you should go back to sleep.”

“I just –“ Draco said. “I still can’t really believe I get to have this.”

Hermione moved in until she was sharing his pillow.

Draco was looking into her eyes. “I used to think about what my life was going to look like, and I never thought…”

“I was a bit of an avant-garde choice,” Hermione said, with a smile. “I’ll give you that one.”

“Not that,” Draco said, stroking a palm down her side. “I was thinking that every time I wake up in the middle of the night, you’re going to be right there.”

“I am,” Hermione agreed.

“What kind of person gets to be happy so often?” Draco said. “I’m not sure it ought to be me. I still just… keep waiting for something bad to happen. I know I should give it up, but I still can’t seem to do it.”

“Draco,” she said, gently. “That’s not how this works.”

“I know,” he said. “It’s hard to understand how I got from that life to this one, though.”

“You made choices,” Hermione said, reaching to tangle her fingers with his. “Good ones, I think. But it’s occurred to me at least a few times that an awful lot of people failed you.”

“How do you mean?” Draco said.

“We wrote you off just because of who your parents were,” Hermione said. “I think you might not have thought the things you did if anyone had tried to make room for you. We didn’t. No one did, honestly. I don’t – when I started here, I realized that I couldn’t understand Dumbledore and that I didn’t like him very much. He put Harry in so many awful situations. He wrote off an entire house, but you –“ She looked at him in the dark. “I think he might have been worst of all to you. You were in so much trouble that even Harry noticed, and Dumbledore didn’t do a single thing to help you. At least Harry had us. He had a lot of people who loved him, actually.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Draco said.

“I think you can be happy at four o’clock in the morning if you’d like,” Hermione said, reaching to brush a thumb over his cheekbone. “There aren’t sides anymore, but if there were, I’d be on yours.”

“That seems all right,” Draco said, finally. “Our team’s currently rather heavy on Gryffindors, though. Since we probably have to add Neville and Potter.” He paused. “Maybe just Neville, actually, I don’t think Potter’s going to like this whole development.”

“I forgot to tell you that apparently he approves,” Hermione said, dryly. “He told me at Christmas that we were good together.”

“Damn, I had all these plans about kissing you in front of him and ruining his life,” Draco said.

“I’m still very willing to do that,” Hermione said. “Feel free to get handsy, he’ll be traumatized and I’ll enjoy it.”

“Win-win,” Draco said.

“Come on,” Hermione said. “Let’s go back to sleep. I’m not letting you do things to me before breakfast if you keep me up all night.”

“This before breakfast thing still sounds very suspect,” Draco said. She rolled back over with a yawn.

“Oh, all right, letting you do things to me after breakfast,” Hermione said.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to,” Draco protested. “I was weighing pros and cons. I think the pros win.”

“Just to be fair, I guess you’ll have to cover before _and_ after breakfast,” Hermione said.

“I could probably manage,” Draco said. “It’s going to be difficult, though.”

“Would you shut up and go back to sleep?” Hermione said, snuggling back against him. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“And I’ll be happy about it,” Draco said, and pulled her close.


End file.
